The Chronicles of the Readers
by Fadingg
Summary: When all she's ever known is taken, a supposed muggle discovers that the world from the books exists. She will have to help the Chosen One and the Order to get her sister back and end the curse above her line. Fate is unforgiving and everything comes with a cost in the end. One must learn to barter with consequence...(AU)
1. Prologue

_The longest A/N I will ever write, otherwise I will keep them very minimum. So I'm going to be straightforward. I wrote this fanfiction when I was a young teenager and now that I've grown up (debatable) and I'm trying to actually do something with my writing (it has changed drastically I do believe) this is a nagging part of that aspect of my life._

_This is an OC/slight self-insert story. I know. Great idea. Everyone will come flocking to read this, won't they? Even better, there are around four OC's + others who come into play in the background as elements of the war we didn't get to witness._

_I'm personally in love with well-written stories with OC/self inserts but instead of focusing on an OC that was once based on a Mary Sue. I've changed nearly everything about this story so if you've read some of this before, chances are it will feel different this time, very different. I've decided to give multiple perspectives of the story over time with the introduction of canon characters so there's a broader picture of this AU instead of the two Reader perspectives; most relationships will stay the same with a few exceptions. The plot of the Readers will seem to flow in sync with canon in the beginning (again, with exceptions) which could be annoying, because I don't necessarily like re-tellings of the series with an OC when you can just read the bloody books but this will not follow that method thanks to it being in an Alternate Universe where the books exist from the dates they were published (technically the first was in Britain in 1997)._

_So I will follow up with reminding you __now__ that this is an Alternate Universe story. AU! AU! AU! (but canon compliant in many cases)!_

_There are great factors at work and there are consequences for certain things, but when other things come to light, things will change (for character development and a half decent/original plot thought up from the shit-storm that was my original fanfic)._

_Playlist Suggestion:  
Interstellar Soundtrack, specifically 'Stay'._

_J.K. Rowling owns this universe._

_Danke._

* * *

_x_

* * *

Book One

_Prologue_

_June 15th 1991_

_Albus,_

_Someone has broken the code.__  
__One of the possible son's prophesied__  
__to be the Chosen One__  
__has had his life archive stolen._

_Our best Seer has also been consulted whilst in a "state".__  
__Vablatsky has been missing ever since._

_Croaker_

Albus sat at his desk, constant concern about him when it came to this letter he'd received six months ago. The archives were returned a month later, but it still lingered whenever his thoughts came to the Potters and the Longbottoms, hardly enjoying their youth during this tumultuous time. He was unable to help track down the culprits and was coming up blank as to who it might be behind this worrisome crime.

Augustus Rookwood had been the first originally to come to mind, but even he had an alibi after much deliberation from Dumbledore through his sources. He hadn't even thought to do such a thing as most Unspeakables daren't touch prophecies or archives that aren't to do with them and would come with many reactionary consequences.

Curious also that Cassandra Vablatsky turned up with next to no memory of the events that took place in her disappearance. The talented Seer was truly distressed that she couldn't remember the events that she was in works to unlocking her lost or better yet "restricted" memories.

Something about it all was rather amiss. Riddle's ranks had no such plans to intervene although had they been given the opportunity, they would have some new targets to manipulate in the Ministry and possibly attack the Department even if it was nearly indestructible. No one of the Light side had plans to get the upper hand on Voldemort and see how they could mess with his or the potential Chosen One's archives.

The latest Daily Prophet lay open and on the vapid gossip section that Albus Dumbledore tended to meander if only to relieve his head of all the stressful thoughts brought on by Tom Riddle's orphan hood issues and ego. Rita Skeeter's face practically taunted him. She knew even the likes of someone of his intelligence wouldn't hold back from reading what he would have assumed was absolute rubbish journalism.

Something clicked in Dumbledore. He'd been taking it from a certain angle for a long time. The angle that prioritises the War that Voldemort had created, to conquer over the good and to run the chaos that would commence from it.

Greed of power was strong in the Wizarding World. He should have known just as well, he'd danced with the idea and the attractive Durmstrang student in his youth often enough, only pulling himself out after the death of his sister in the crossfire, as reality stopped the music playing in his head. He settled for the more humble path, teaching and caring for the school children of Wizarding Britain, while repenting for helping to create the monster that was once his dear friend Gellert. He'd been offered several positions of importance upon the defeat of his old friend, some of which he took. But there was one he couldn't touch, not if he wanted to remain loyal to the family that made him and suffered for him.

He would always use the power he had within these other positions to protect those who needed it most and he would never dance with the idea of more to put upon his shoulders.

But some other versions of greed were just as tempting just as well as other versions of power, especially when one lacked something vital in the Wizarding World so as to be truly a part of its community. Rita lacked legitimacy and would eventually hunger for it over time, so all she could settle for was the power of blackmail, and she wielded the power well.

Maybe some didn't hunger for power so much as they did for significance in history and the financial gain from lifelong woes.

_Maybe _-

But he was interrupted during this momentous changing thought train as it crashed and burned off the track and into the abyss as a knocking rang thrice at his door.

Dumbledore sighed in mild aggravation. 'Come in Minerva.'

The door opened and showed Minerva McGonagall inside as well as a companion just behind her.

'I hope we've not disturbed you Albus, but it's really quite urgent. Cassandra Vablatsky appears to remember some information from those weeks of lost memory,' Minerva announced quietly. She was still in suspicion that there were spies in the walls from the gall Tom Riddle had.

Albus nodded, gesturing Cassandra forward to a seat over the opposite side of his desk.

'You've remembered something?' Dumbledore asked.

Cassandra looked fairly uncomfortable but nodded regardless. She then went on to explain.

'It wasn't like I would normally receive a vision like this. It was in a dream. She recalled to me something I'd said in a trance and the memory for that moment came back to me. I could recite a new prophecy I'd made.'

'She?' Dumbledore enquired.

'She,' Cassandra confirmed, 'Her name was Eviana. Eviana Napoleon. I looked her up upon waking and once I'd found the right passage in my library, I knew straight away that this was no ordinary dream.'

'Forgive me, I'm not so averse in all the histories of our past ancestors,' Dumbledore insisted politely.

Cassandra closed her eyes momentarily before remembering the answer. 'Eviana Napoleon's family line was thought to be wiped off the face of the Earth when she and her family were attacked by the pureblood society that she was once a member of back in her time, a time when the resurrection of Salazar Slytherin was a possibility.'

'And there is a significance to this witch or this attack?' Albus questioned further.

'She was a brilliant Seer and a very powerful witch. Her abilities would have assisted well in helping to resurrect Salazar Slytherin, but when that was realised by the Purebloods, she and her children were ashes. However…she forced her husband and squib child to escape with the chances they would suffer most. Her line still exists.'

'How does this link with the life archives of the potential Chosen One?'

The Seer Cassandra Vablatsky looked incredibly frustrated with herself. 'I'm usually aware of a new prophecy being made on my behalf, but it seems whoever had me also attempted to _Obliviate_ me in the process.'

Dumbledore sat up in his chair, leaning forward as this clearly caught his entire attention to the situation, all nagging thoughts left alone for the time being.

'It explains my disastrous lack of memory – but she, I am to mean Eviana reminded me in a dream,' Cassandra relayed, mostly confused. 'I don't receive any of my visions within my dreams. I'm usually very much awake, but she feels it important that I know. The results otherwise could be detrimental to the path we walk.'

A hint of grief fell on Dumbledore's complexion. Something new and just as concerning, another prophecy to keep in line if only for the good of humanity in the Wizarding world.

'You don't manage to recall your prophecy Cassandra?' Dumbledore said, a tone of assumption.

'She reminded me – thought it important someone more consciously headed know too. Whoever they are attempted to wipe my memory of its creation. But I remember it as clear as day now.'

Cassandra closed her eyes and let herself relax in the chair and into herself entirely. Complete and utter meditation and calm – a void of nothingness making its way into her being.

The symptoms came back to her and she knew it was time again.

Her eyes shot open, still and bright without iris or pupil, frightening to some and intriguing to those of Dumbledore's profession and responsibility and she spoke mechanically yet smoothly all at the same time.

Dumbledore took his time to listen carefully.

'_Two girls won't be recognised. They will continue on with their lives, until one fateful night, when they are both ready for the picking. Tragedy will strike, fatal to those they love while separating them. With aid of books and ancestry, one will show the Red Eye its path, while the other will guide Lightening to its destiny. Only these two can decipher the words of written fate and see it change before their very eyes. Only the end of a line will bring peace to their own. Only the end will see them reunited. They will be known as the Readers_.'

Cassandra's head fell forward when she was finished and Dumbledore rushed to her side to see her fit to ask her questions or send her home.

Many questions were arising from the words of this prophecy. Who were these girls and how would he find out who they are? Would he need to assign Order members immediately? And _what_ precisely was this written word, enough to label them "Readers"? Was there a secret book that tells the fate of the world hidden in amongst all the treasures of the magical world that changed when need be?

Cassandra awoke slowly and calmly and said to Dumbledore, 'I remember now.'

Dumbledore knew that he wouldn't be receiving any answers to his questions that night, but he understood that Cassandra's forgotten company had some ideas as to just what this was all about.

Dumbledore scribbled all his questions and thoughts down on a piece of parchment and made a copy for himself, to keep these questions relevant in his mind and also one to give to his new Seer informant, Ms. Cassandra Vablatsky, if she only remembered a section of the time she spent and with whom specifically from her lost memories.

'Ms. Vablatsky, when the answers come to you, hopefully they do in good time, you must contact me as soon as you are able,' Dumbledore insisted seriously, passing over a copied version of his notes and neatly written, succinct questions.

Cassandra nodded, still feeling tired and was helped up by Dumbledore to leave.

They heard a scuffling of feet just outside the door and knew they hadn't been alone in hearing the prophecy of the Readers. Dumbledore bolted from his seat, across his office quarters and to the door. He swung it open only to be disappointed.

There was no one in sight. Cassandra's next words were meant to help ease his worries.

'You're not imagining anything Albus. There was an eavesdropper at your door, one who will do so again...'

* * *

There had been an enchantment over the Wizarding World since the late 90's, 1997 to be precise. The statute had to be kept explicitly secret and if this was the opening to the two worlds combining, then there would be big losses and danger, most certainly. One could profit from Muggles, but shouldn't engage in the magical truth with them, they had been such fickle folk when it came to the subject prior to going into hiding. With big offers of a stream of gold and luxury to accommodate those who were in place to hide this devastatingly huge secret for an ambitious squib and her mother, one had to weigh out the pros over the cons.

The shiny Wizarding currency certainly won out.

But in enjoying their gold and living their newly ostentatious lives, things began to crumble. Life spans on larger spells were particularly difficult to maintain when there wasn't a life or blood tied to the spell. The Defence Post at Hogwarts remained cursed thanks to the little known truth that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's soul hadn't left this earth when the Unforgivable repelled from the infant back onto the sender.

No one could commit themselves to a spell to blanket those born for the Wizarding World from the potentially threatening delights of a muggle children's book series. Even Muggleborns couldn't peruse the future they had unknowingly, or hear the words banned from their ears that children would gladly recount and spoil for others. Muggleborns never got to be spoiled of such a story. Not when it had yet to be played out within the Wizarding World.

But there was a gap in time thanks to the lack of upkeep to have such a powerful and manipulative spell on thousands of people, hundreds of thousands once the rest of the world had to be accounted for. They had been good in keeping it secret, but over time the ritual for maintenance grew weary and those involved simply didn't turn up one day for the scheduled date to renew the spell's enchantment strength.

And so it crumbled and crumbled away like a bad foundation in wet weather and one particular piece of the puzzle became as clear as the blue skies above.

Thankfully only one person had come across the secret image.

* * *

_June 12th 2005_

Madam Amelia Bones was never one to usually help on a crime scene anymore as she was far too busy in her office as Head of the DMLE. But the sunny day was far too inviting and she knew nothing gruesome would come from this petty crime valid for the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts and Obliviators only to get involved with.

It felt like it had been too long since she'd stretched her legs and gotten into some hard and dirty work of investigating. She had truly missed those moments of clarity during a tiresome case with nearly no leads although she could have done without the long nights and hours of uncertainty.

Arriving in a small cobbled Brighton street, she found a colourful cake shop that looked rather topsy turvy by muggle standards. The muggles were also blissfully unaware on the street of their presence. Amelia felt that even if they could see them, those who lived in Brighton would probably have not been so cock eyed to see them.

But her workers had done their job properly, and in some cases, better than the Aurors who were meant to be a level above them. The perpetrator was already subdued by a wizard who had him wrapped up with a couple of spells and the wizard in question had clearly been hopped up on some sort of irrational anger issues due to his current ranting.

'_They think they're all different and magical here in this place of cake – They know nothing of the sort, so I thought I'd show them! Hahahahahaha!_'

Madam Amelia Bones had to hold herself back from rolling her eyes. Some wizards and witches shouldn't have had the privilege to own wands and practice magic, especially during a flu season in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts department (which was why she had been asked for this breezy opportunity in the first place).

'I'm sorry to have disturbed you during our busiest period Madam Bones, from what we heard we thought we'd need the extra muscle,' Gildred Hornsworth commented apologetically.

'No need Mrs. Hornsworth, Brighton is a favourable area and it was nice to get some fresh air for a day that's usually spent being stuck in an office,' Madam Bones responded in kind.

'Well you know what to do, Madam Bones, if you'd like to spend a bit more time out of the office,' Gildred suggested to the street around them.

Any other possibilities of magic gone awry in a muggle street and Amelia was on it. Slyly flicking her wand to check the surrounding area, Gildred went and spoke with the Obliviators to question them of what they'd recounted from the muggles, as was protocol.

Amelia took a few steps across the cobbled street, watching as a blissful couple walked past and children walked by with families. She attempted to ignore what could have been and looked into a shop window to get her mind off such trivial life desires.

It was a quaint bookshop, and in its window, a magnificent display of a large fake book, surrounded by familiar other stories and illustrations down the bottom. The main large display book showed a boy with messy raven hair and round glasses with an old wizened man with long white hair and a beard as majestic as the Chief Warlock she'd grown to know well over the years she'd been in the Wizengamot's proceedings, who wore half moon glasses, much again like Albus Dumbledore. They were surrounded by a circle of enchanted fire.

Amelia frowned in thought as she looked closer to the picture. Squinting her eyes and getting out her glasses to be sure, she saw a lightning bolt shaped scar on the boy's forehead and also noticed the familiar looking sticks in the two _wizards_ hands. She looked toward the title and found the words constantly jumbling about in front of her, and wondered if the same thing were happening to any of the muggles in the street. Surely this was also something for the Misuse department to be concerned with?

But not one muggle stopped in amazement at the utter magic on display in front of her, perplexing her as to what the title of a book should be called.

'Oh Mummy! The new book is out! Please, please, _please_ can we get it?!' A young girl pleaded with her mother, stopping her in their midst to get home.

The mother chuckled and said, 'Not tonight kiddo. We're still reading through the third one together, and that's the sixth book. Wait until you've finished the fifth and the pages will smell all nice and fresh when we buy it then.'

'Excuse me,' Amelia asked, not sure just exactly what she was doing especially dressed the way she was but feeling desperate, 'I'm shopping for my niece's birthday present and I was wondering if you would suggest this?'

The mother looked surprised, not just at the attire but the question.

'Has she not read the Harry Potter books?' the woman offered in question.

Amelia hardened but attempted a warm and confused smile.

'Oh no, she's still quite young, but old enough to start getting into big chapter books,' Amelia said. That was true of her only niece a few years ago, but the young girl was reading a new book every time she saw her.

'Well they work their way up,' the mother said admittedly, 'The first book is quite easy to get through, a good read, even if it's intended for children. But they get a bit darker once you get into the series, which is why my little girl and I are taking them slow.'

'I'm not little, thank you very much!' the young girl said smartly. She was sent a slight warning look from her mother and hushed somewhat.

'Well thank you for the advice,' Amelia said kindly before going into the shop.

What had she just come across? Had no one known about this in the Wizarding World? And who would dare profit off Harry Potter's life? Hadn't he been through enough?

Amelia went straight to the counter and was clearly on a mission. She never wished to appear rude but she had things to do, people to owl and such.

'May I please get the first Harry Potter book?' she said hurriedly. The term itself too felt rather foreign but the salesman gave a look of instant recognition.

'Be my pleasure, those books are always flying off the shelves and it's lucky you're not asking for the latest one. We're nearly out of those,' the man behind the counter said pleasantly.

Amelia swallowed hard and had her emergency muggle money as she had advised all in her department to do so as well, in case they were hungry in muggles areas or came across books about young orphaned boys famous for a defeat as an infant and the rest of their lives were written out for the rest of the muggle world to unknowingly snoop in and garishly gawp at.

She smacked the money on the counter after he put the book in a brown paper bag with the shops name stamped on the side.

'Keep the change,' Amelia said assuredly and the shopkeeper smiled in return.

She made no mention of it to the Misuse team. This needed a lot of confidentiality.

* * *

_June 28th 2005_

Dumbledore wasn't particularly happy to hear this news but it was beginning to give him some sense.

As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Albus Dumbledore was immediately informed of an act so far past a breach of privacy and modesty that even he spit out his tea at what he'd read from one of the members of the Wizengamot, a very reliable Madam Amelia Bones, who as Head of the DMLE noticed something quite familiar in a bookshop window display of a children's fantasy series illustrating Dumbledore in an act of dancing fire with the spitting image of Harry or something closer to James Potter with Lily's eyes next to him.

Harry Potter's entire life and future had been written about in a very successful series of muggle fantasy books and by successful, profit was made and a small fee of it to shut up those who'd been told to enquire into the matter five years prior when the Muggle Prime Minister caught wind of his own children talking about the first four and linking the two together. Those who were saddled with this information were all very willing to take on the generous donations instead, sweeping the matter under the rug. It was a muggle _billion_ dollar series after all. In galleons the number was undeniably appealing despite the injustice done.

Greed for coin was quite easy to recognise in the Wizarding World, they were all far too busy trying to calm down those with the greed for power, darker corruption and correcting the muggle way to think that such an awful thing could happen, slipping past all of them for so long, especially when it had clearly made an impact on Muggle children's literature the world over. There were talks of a film series to go with it though thankfully that had been dismissed for the sake of the already exploited protagonist.

Dumbledore immediately wrote to the members of the Wizengamot after being informed of the covert operation Amelia had been handling on her own since she'd come across the books and for the past week to uncover many dark secrets after much digging and poking. He also owled a couple of other people who would need the information straight away to keep his two possibilities of the other prophecy safe.

He'd done a shabby job of Harry Potter's childhood and now this was added on top of an orphan boy who was forced to live with his aunt's family who'd been systematically abusive in his upbringing when he thought his own blood would be good to him simply because that was the right thing to do. Harry Potter's life had been exploited for profit and not a cent had gone his way or even a thought toward the poor young wizard.

Czarina Skeeter (odd name but odd and criminal family regardless) was being held in a cell in Azkaban before a very private hearing was to be held with the Wizengamot. Unlike the very public demise of those of the Wizarding community that usually occurred written rather nicely and crushingly down by Rita Skeeter herself, this was out of the news completely for the sake of the Muggle World not being overrun with panicked Witches and Wizards who would believe the Statute was vanquished in this act of greed.

Dumbledore wouldn't be surprised if Rita knew something. The witch would be attending the hearing under strict orders that nothing from that chamber came back out again.

Czarina wasn't the writer or the one who had made most profit. She was an Unspeakable until the truth had been discovered. It was in fact her squib daughter, Janette Kimberly Skeeter who'd used her two first initials and the last name of a boy she'd fancied when she was young.

Janette was very sneaky for a squib and it seemed her mother was keeping her mouth buttoned about her whereabouts too, although not out of choice.

'Truly terrible isn't it Albus, that such a thing should occur?' Elphias Doge, an old friend and fellow member commented briefly.

'It's certainly not like the old days. Everything is a little bigger than it should be,' Albus requited.

'Please tell me Fudge isn't in on this?' an elderly balding member grumbled, 'The man can't quite keep it together when a mild matter goes out of control, but something this size Albus…'

'He is on holiday with his family and I told him I would take care of the matters as such until he gets back.'

'Good,' grumpy Connie Patters commented loudly, 'The dullard would probably have made a press conference about such a bothersome situation, and the worst of the Wizarding World would have been unleashed on unsuspecting muggles.'

'I must say I too am glad this hasn't reached the Minister,' Amelia Bones made herself present, 'It upset me quite a bit to come across this book. I can't imagine what would have happened if the rest of our world – particularly Harry found out the worst way.'

'Well you handled it all exceptionally well Amelia,' Connie complimented, 'Otherwise we wouldn't be here now with Mrs. Czarina Skeeter waiting in a side room, waiting to be questioned.'

Within a few minutes they were all keen to get started so as to finish this entirely and set some injustices properly.

Two Ministry guards wheeled out Mrs. Czarina Skeeter on a wheelchair, but her arms were bound across her in the straight jacket and her legs had similarly been strapped together. Her hair and face looked unkempt, her skin grey and sagging and her eyes distant and empty. A St. Mungos Associate and an expert from the same Hospital stood nearby to keep an eye on her.

A lone being sat in the stands and it was the noticeably dolled up Rita Skeeter, looking very vulnerable and confused, refusing to look anywhere but the floor.

'This doesn't look promising,' a whisper came from the small crowd the Wizengamot gathered.

'Terribly sorry I'm late, I'd forgotten my documents,' a wizard called from the entrance of the court.

'Do come in Saul, you're much needed to explain this,' Dumbledore spoke for the Wizengamot in gesture of the rather sedated looking Czarina Skeeter.

'Of course,' Saul stepped in and marched toward a small door entering into the questioning area.

'I bring forth Czarina Skeeter's log for the Forbidden Chamber for the month of December, year 1990.'

'There's a forbidden chamber, Mr. Croaker?' repeated one of the few youthful members of the Wizengamot curiously.

'It's expressly forbidden outside the Unspeakables to reveal it or its purpose, and we are sworn to secrecy even with a case involving it so publicly to the Muggle World,' Saul exclaimed, hoping that the subject of the secret chamber be dropped.

The Wizengamot member nodded in understanding and the Unspeakable Saul Croaker continued.

'Over fourteen years ago, Harry Potter's life archive was stolen from the Forbidden Chamber. Thought to be a ploy by someone working for You-Know-Who,' Saul said carefully, 'However the old system's log files had been completely and utterly burned to ruins, so we couldn't confirm who had been the one to access the chamber.'

Saul paused for a moment and said, 'It is with our grievous apologies that we hadn't thought to look into this any further after the devastating loss of the Potters and their orphaned son Harry as we thought that damage that could be done, had been done.'

'And it seemed that what we thought was the signs of rapid aging and loss of sanity in Mrs. Czarina Skeeter were in fact the symptoms of the toll to pay when accessing life archives that aren't yours to be touched or involve oneself with…'

The pause made all frown. Smiling uncomfortably, Saul continued.

'Although her decrease in sanity was made aware, she'd sorted out an early retirement to prevent any issues in her work and through some brief moments of complete awareness demonstrated explained that not all was well in her home. We handed her a sympathetic gesture and let her go on her way. That was in the month of October of 1997, nearly seven years after the life archives went missing. Coincidentally this was when, according to Muggle sources, when the first book that Madam Amelia Bones had discovered in a Brighton bookshop was said to become rather successful and more books were on their way to their respective publisher. Since that time, six books have been released, right under our very noses to this day. It is believed that the files were copied within that month, our consultant Seer Ms. Cassandra Vablatsky was also missing from that time and had thought to have been wiped of her memories although it appears she's regained all that couldn't unlock at that time.'

'Thank you Croaker for bringing this forward,' said Dumbledore finishing his piece. Gesturing to the guards, Dumbledore spoke once more, 'Please bring out the accused of the Ministry.'

By his word, the other guards brought in the disgraced members of the Ministry, set them in front of the Wizengamot. One attempted a cry for mercy pitifully.

'Silence!' Dumbledore's deep voice echoed.

The man shrivelled down to size and a woman and another man nearly whimpered either side of him. An even older and grumpier looking man was on the end, rather undeterred by all the commotion.

'You don't seem to quite understand the scale of this crime,' Dumbledore's voice rang out clear. 'A young boy, a very unfortunate young wizard has had his life exploited for entertainment and profit and I'll be damned if you feel an inch of guilt after taking on much of the profit to sweep it all under the rug.'

'You also don't seem to realise what sort of danger you could have caused by not passing on this information. Had someone else discovered this, the Statute of Secrecy, which we all work so hard to maintain could have collapsed! Some of the Purists might have thought this a good reason as for any to wipe out those who'd read these books, and that number is far greater than we would have ever expected!'

'Czarina placed a curse upon these books so that no one in our world or of our heritage could ever read them!' the woman of the four cried out, 'We knew the damage was done, and we knew that too many people had seen it! She offered us the money so we could better patrol it!'

'And yet there was no one to maintain this curse created in order to patrol this extremely popular book series, selling by the millions. You all got caught and that is the only reason why you're feeling remorse!' Amelia said angrily, forcing to calm herself down when the woman flinched at her words.

'What would you have done?! If this had happened before the first book was released then we would have stopped it!' An older wizard called out.

'But it was too far gone!' the woman cried again.

'There is no such thing as too far-gone in relation to some muggle books. You didn't bother following any set protocol nor did you inform the authorities or Wizengamot members who could have handled this without being bribed to keep quiet while also not letting this nonsense continue. You didn't try, you simply took the convenient and most rewarding way out,' an old witch of the Wizengamot commented.

'Here, here!' cried a few members of the Wizengamot.

'Oh please,' said the only wizard who wasn't whimpering and weeping before the court. He was snide, tired and frustrated he'd been caught. He also had found it hypocritical that anyone here could say such a thing when money was more powerful than power itself within the Ministry.

'When you're offered the equivalent of a million galleons in exchange for being quiet about Potter's story in the muggle world, you wouldn't think on the guilty implications for a second! I don't see the main cause of this sitting next to her mother!'

'That may be true of any government, muggle or magical,' Dumbledore cut through, able to see just what he meant, 'However we as the Wizengamot serve as a separate section of government that refuses such advantages and speak for justice itself and a major injustice was served for far too long and our own Ministry failed to bring justice to one of our own. You failed to do your job and you accepted money that came from an illegally resourced series of books with no permission given by the child of who it is expressly about.'

Once it was all made clear, the speaking of the Wizengamot settled and Czarina Skeeter was the only one making noises and they were mostly gurgling and laughing. Rita, the only person in the stands refused to look up from the floor.

'It would seem,' Dumbledore began solemnly, 'Mrs Czarina Skeeter will spend the rest of her life stuck in a cell in Azkaban, as our system dictates. As for you four it is expected that all the right compensation be paid back to Mr. Harry Potter into his vault at Gringott's Bank, and by compensation, all that money you received will be taken along with the repossession of anything such as properties or any items you may have bought with this new source of finance. As for your sentence in Azkaban, that shall be decided among the court.'

The consideration of time usually spent and time deserved was heavily debated for around ten minutes before coming to a finite conclusion.

'For crimes against the community of the Wizarding World, for crimes of exploitation and for the crime of not following in your duty and for accepting bribes you will each serve fifteen years,' Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock announced as regret washed over most of the four who stood in this confidential trial. The last was far too angry at having been caught.

'Think of this as an exercise in what not to do when indulging in your own greed instead of standing by the responsibilities of your duty,' Dumbledore finished harshly before banging the gavel.

As the four were being taken away, the last, very angry wizard yelled out, 'Why isn't Janette here facing her punishment?!'

But he was never given an answer. Truth was, the final book was being written according to an incredibly small slither of a moment that Czarina Skeeter was sane and aware. Her daughter wasn't even contacting her and had gone underground a while ago, fearing the Wizarding Community would come after her. The only people who knew anything different were her publishers and with no certainty of what the words were on the books or written on the hundreds of pages, they weren't sure whom to contact. Even the logo of the publisher had only been incredibly popular on the books and on no other significant books.

Once Amelia had thought to ask the same shopkeeper the name of the publisher, they had searched for the address, noticing how hard Czarina had made it to find them in the process and within another year, the last book was being printed once she'd received a reply. No one would stop them from printing it, and she wasn't going to risk revealing the Wizarding World to those that held a very big key to it unknowingly.

There was no possible way of turning back the clocks. The moment Janette Kimberly Skeeter wanted this story, she'd created a mass of links with it and in some cases, some very big consequences for her actions, that others suffered as she hid from it all.

* * *

Dumbledore had gathered all of his notes on his desk from the last fourteen years since he'd heard the Prophecy.

He had dismissed two Order members from duty after intelligence showed that the girls possible under their surveillance turned out to be normal muggle girls over a couple of years. Those notes were tucked away now, in a scrap folder in the possibility they'd missed something.

But one remained as he had suspected, the riskiest of the lot.

There were incidences this Order member mentioned. But their names had never turned up on the register of muggleborn children, which was highly suspect.

Dumbledore had spread before him a time-span of these two girls' lives from birth as reported by his spy, their family, their whereabouts, and etcetera.

There weren't too many explanations as to how this could be possible. Two muggles with potential magic in their veins and there was no records of it within the Ministry of their country of upbringing? A country that held hardly any magic outside of the Aboriginal communities, which too had been nearly wiped out by colonisation.

Nor were there any records of it from their country of birth in Europe?

He had received very few letters from his correspondent over the nearing ten years since his departure from Britain, but they all held much meatier tales and similarities to the Prophecy's retelling than the official notes he had obtained over time.

Dumbledore trusted his correspondent's word to the utmost severity of the meaning.

And with Amelia's discovery, it was obvious that fate had handed the two girls more safety than he could ever have given them without leaving a mark for others to trace. They were muggles brought up in a muggle world. They were likely yearning for the magic they didn't even know they had. It was highly likely they had come across the texts that exploited Harry's yet unlived story.

Dumbledore pulled out a new piece of parchment with no intention of giving it to some poor owl. It would have taken the animal weeks, and to adapt to new climates and lengths was a cruelty unnecessary to bestow on any creature. The floo would have to take it, somehow.

His quill and ink wrote a letter so detailed and explanatory that an utterance hadn't been left out. Dumbledore couldn't risk this Auror being left out now. Not with the future in his vicinity.

He signed it and delicately printed the name of his accomplice onto the envelope in green ink.

* * *

It was cold wintery night within a house in the Southern Hemisphere.

A fire was crackling in the fireplace beneath a mantel. The family of the house enjoyed each other's company while they watched the television set, an occasional bellow of laughter or giggle echoing the bungalow.

A black cat, with white patches reminiscent of a tuxedo on his coat, lay down nearby the fire lazily. He watched the family's interaction whilst taking snoozes here and there; stretching his limbs when he felt it was necessary.

He'd nearly been consumed by the life of a domestic cat. He was comfortable and quite happy considering his circumstances.

But something made everything fall back into place again.

A rattle within the fire place saw the cat roll to it's side, almost preparing to change into the beast of a fighter it was in its true form, only to be met with a letter.

The volume of the television was up high and no one seemed to notice the small projectile that nearly bumped the cat on the nose in its haste.

The Dad cackled with laughter, as did the Mum with a higher pitch.

A human like sigh escaped from the cat as he picked up the potentially disastrous letter and padded along the wooden floor behind the couch and into the bed they'd given him when he arrived.

The cat recognised the writing immediately and swallowed harshly.

What could this mean? Were there new developments in the Prophecy? Was it over? Was he leaving? How could he do this without causing a panic? Was the mad old wizard wrong about his two girls?

'_Noir? Noir Bubba, where are you?_'

He shoved the letter under his bed with the few others he had accumulated over the years and decided to wait until everyone was absolutely, definitely asleep to find out.

* * *

_For those who were confused by why it jumps from 1991 to 2005:_

_Short answer: Read and you'll find out this is part of the AU element._

_Long answer: We don't begin in 1991 for the main trio starting their first year. The trio are in their third year in 2008 and I did this for a reason, which heavily involves the Skeeter family (they have a thing for writing impermissible biographies), and again AU!_


	2. That Fateful Night

_I'd like to clarify that Harry is alive, but a lot of people assumed from the prologue that he wasn't, so there's that._

_World belongs to J.K._

_Playlist Suggestion: 'Apparition on the Train', POA Soundtrack (no. 4)_

_(This chapter was updated for probably the twentieth time because I felt like it turned more people away from the rest of the story at how bloody unrealistic and OOC it seemed)._

_(Now the twenty-first)._

_Edited: June 2016_

_._

* * *

Book One

_Chapter One_

_That Fateful Night_

_January 9th 2008_

_Australia_

A young girl of thirteen was reading a book although she was constantly being interrupted by the sound of laughing in the nearby living room. Her sister she had assumed just got in after a night out, and was probably in her last stages of being drunk, so was most likely to be a mess. She'd now turned the TV on. The younger one assumed she was still drunk as the TV's volume was a little too high for anyone currently sleeping.

Finally deciding on actually walking out of her bedroom, possibly to shut her sister up, she went to retrieve the lemonade she'd bought from the market, many hours before. It was now flat and a little too sweet for her liking.

'You stayed up this late?'

Her sister had noticed her tiredly slouch into the room. As the younger girl looked at her older sister, she saw her sitting on the couch with a bag of grapes, oily blonde hair up in a bun and in the state she always was in whenever she came home after being out with her friends. She was wearing a hooded jumper over whatever she'd dressed up in hours before, markings around her feet from where the straps of her heels rubbed away the fake tan. She had panda eyes from sweating her mascara and eyeliner over the eight hours she was gone and she assumed her lipstick was tidied up as best as possible on the major chance their parents would wake up the moment she walked in the door to berate her.

'Well it wouldn't exactly be easy to fall asleep with the volume of both the television and your laughter up so high,' the younger girl replied sarcastically. Although she eventually conceded that her activities were keeping her in a state of insomnia this holidays.

'It really isn't your doing keeping me up,' she reasoned holding up the book sheepishly.

Her sister predicted she wanted to know what happened in the book she was reading. For the younger girl it was her only life now. Reading. That was all she did these days as well as the musical hobbies encouraged by her parents more than her own enjoyment.

'I actually worry about you; what happened to all of your friends?' the blonde asked the brunette with some concern, echoes of her inebriated state slurring her words although regaining her mind as the minutes ticked on by.

'You want the truth, not the shit I tell mum when she asks me?' the younger girl asked. The older girl nodded eagerly. Too eagerly. Her sister rarely knew what happened in her life these days.

'I guess if you're that curious and not jumping down my throat about it...my friends and I…It's not the same anymore. They want to do different things and I just couldn't keep up so they dropped me.'

'What bitches…' her sister said quietly. A particularly loud violent scene went haywire on the television, which woke the both of them up even more. The younger girl took the TV remote from her sister and immediately muted the TV.

_CRACK!_

The blonde girl was up and alert, almost tripping over herself. A storm began outside, with rain, lightning and thunder. It was strange for a thunderstorm to start. There had been no signs of anything coming in the past two hours.

The lights began to flicker, and soon enough they were blown out. The television went blank and everything else that could've been on turned off with a little clicking noise. 'Power out,' the girls said in unison.

The front door creaked open loudly. They could hear this from where they were which was close to the back of the house. The front was where their parents were sleeping in their bedroom. The door to the first half of the house, which was the garage, the study and their parents' bedroom, was now wide open but they couldn't see anything in the darkness.

'Did you forget to close the door when you came in?'

The older sister in the dark was most likely looking offended at being questioned.

'You know I wouldn't risk forgetting it after Huang's break in.'

The sound of a frame falling to the ground and the glass shattering into a thousand pieces was heard all around the house, making their parents wake up and the two girls scramble toward each other.

A bolt of lightening struck nearby the house as the sound of something trailing against the wall eerily rang out throughout the area. Two figures were coming closer and their outlines did not fit the comforting silhouettes of their parents.

The oldest, being the closest to the intruders ordered the youngest to hide, as she ran into the pantry, pulling the security alarm to alert the security down by the docks. It wasn't working as it had been shown to do. The light wasn't flashing.

The other one ran into the kitchen in her reckless thinking, grabbing the sharpest, most deadly knife if needed for assistance.

A sudden angry yelling of her father bounced across the house. It caught the attention of the two intruders.

'Who the hell are you?!'

'Shut up animal, we're here to get one thing and one thing _only_!' the first intruders voice replied snidely, sounding vaguely raspy and worn but identifiably feminine.

'No! Get out, and don't point that stick…_NO_! PLEASE DON'T! _I BEG OF YOU_!' she heard her father cower. She had never heard him sound so desperate in all her life.

'That's right. We'll take what we need then we'll leave you alone you filthy animal.'

'NO PLEASE-' but the rest of what he said was filled with a painful scream that resembled her fathers. Following it shortly after was a swift green flash of light, that could be seen from the floors reflection and a body hitting the ground thereafter. She had never heard her father scream like that before and the feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that he wouldn't get back up.

And that green light had made her feel aware that something was going wrong, something significant about it…

The terrified whimper of her mother was heard as she was further questioned, although this time, the brunette couldn't hear the snide voices.

'I would rather _die_!' her mother said definitively.

'As you wish,' said the unknown female, as her mother's blood curdling scream was heard probably throughout the street. The sound of a body hitting the ground was made loud and clear, with a new flash of green light. The woman cackled loudly. It was inhuman and terrifying.

Why wasn't anyone in the street intervening? Why weren't the sirens of police cars and ambulances being heard? Surely someone must've heard her parents' echo as loudly as she had. Why was no one intervening?

The girl was panicking. Her parents may or may not have been murdered ten feet away from where she now stood, ready to defend herself from those who brought violence and fear into her home, with the knife that was held so tightly in her grip she couldn't tell what was reality and what had to have been her imagination.

'Oh _little_ girl…come out, come out, we only want to _play_…'

They _had_ seen her…they knew she was probably going with the hide or fight option as flight was no longer available to her, not from where she stood. If her sister hadn't run into the pantry, she might've had a chance to escape out the back door and around the side of the house.

The voice of the woman who had hurt her parents was unbearably close now and she wasn't sure if she would have the guts to stab her or the companion she'd brought along with her.

But before she could act, somebody else did.

Her sister came charging out of the pantry, as she emptied two pots of powders and it was only until it saturated the air did she get that it was cocoa powder and something else, something that reminded her of baking: flour. She threw the empty flour pot at the woman's head, landing with a hollow thud.

It certainly did the trick however, catching the two off guard. Her older sister, no matter how out of it she might've been, could really swing a broom when she knew she was threatened.

The younger girl took her chance as she saw a big man who looked as though he could shave in some areas, covered in powder along with the crazed woman, who now attacked back at her sister. His back was turned to her, and although it was a coward's trick, it was the one she, a teenage girl knew she could survive from.

Stabbing him as high up as possible, the skin felt hard to pierce and was an effort to pull out the knife. Continuously, she plunged the knife into his back, trying to make a bigger impact, but even she felt it tiring despite her adrenaline rush from hearing her parents torturous cries.

To her horror, she discovered she had merely angered him in her attempt to bring him down. He swung a large and extremely hairy arm at her, propelling her over to the couches, eventually banging into the coffee table. A grunt echoed from the coffee table being forced back from its position and the pain was settling in.

The young girl had been knocked off to the side completely and blood began to trickle down her face as a new gash up high on her skull and throbbing followed thereafter.

How was it possible? How did he not keel over from the pain of the blade of the sharpened knife? How did he simply brush her off without some sense of weakness from his wounds?

For a blurry moment out of these drifting and swift thoughts, she could see the two assailants.

It was surreal but she knew she was seeing what she was seeing.

She had to have been dreaming.

The female had frizzy, _wild_ black hair that went down to her breasts; she was a rather skinny somewhat tall and frail woman, her face was hollow and her eyes seemed to bulge out all the more, a look in them of pure perverse joy.

Said woman was also wearing an odd uniform, except the numbers were just strange symbols with a black cloak over the top, like something out of a fantasy. The female was holding a polished wooden stick, which was a dark brown colour and curved strangely.

She knew who she was, as well as she knew the male intruder.

He was rather hairy in all the weirdest places of his body other than his arms. He was barefoot with long, dark grey clothes and leather pieces that were shabby and patched up. He closely resembled something of a half beast, and had yellowing fang like teeth and the most evil amber eyes that after looking into them, her assumptions had gathered to one answer.

But how could it be?

'Did these _muggles_ really think they could overcome us?' she heard the woman snidely comment.

The beast of a man moved toward the younger girl who was just about out cold by her appearance, though continued to listen anxiously whilst the older blonde hovered, now very much so unconscious to her plight, tied up in ropes that had appeared from out of thin air. He'd touched her head, seeing the fresh wound and heard him lick his lips. His breath stank of near death and she stopped herself from gagging in fear of certain death.

He gave her a fresh scratch across her forehead. Her body twitched involuntarily and she bit down the pain.

Stay quiet. Stay living.

He tasted the blood he'd drawn on his nail, which felt more like claws to the girl. He said in deep, rasping tone, 'I personally prefer the ones who fight back.'

'Hurry up you swine,' snarled the woman in disgust, 'we don't have time for you to indulge yourself. She'll die soon enough.'

His presence left the younger girl after a grunt like whining noise. One was clearly the superior in this situation as he obeyed the woman.

The brutish man took the unconscious older girl and threw her over his shoulder. Pulling out her curved stick, the woman had done something unbelievable, decreasing the older girl in size as the two changed their appearance without a second thought.

They walked back out into the storm with the older sister in tow.

In her last waking moment, the younger girl wondered whether her imagination had caught up with her reading, or if she had seriously just witnessed Bellatrix Lestrange and Fenrir Greyback possibly murder her parents and kidnap her sister.

The other was that this wasn't how she wanted to be introduced to the reality of the Wizarding World.

She lost complete consciousness after witnessing her black and white cat appearing from the laundry – and an odd regretfully reminiscent look on his white whiskered face.


	3. Aftermath

_Yeah, I'm not leaving too much time in between chapters but all I literally have to do is fix a ton of plot points, how often I used caps lock, the language I used and the actual emotion of the chapters._

_Playlist Suggestion(s):_

'_Adagio for Strings', London Philharmonic Orchestra &amp; David Parry.  
'Malfoy's Mission', HBP Soundtrack (no. 14). _

_J.K. Rowling owns this universe. I just manipulate it._

_(This chapter and a few others are constantly being updated to not sound as ridiculous and make more sense)._

_Edited: June 2016_

_._

* * *

Book One

_Chapter Two_

_Aftermath_

The young girl hadn't awoken of her own volition. Rather she found herself slowly rousing to one of her cats, the black adoptee Noir poking her with his paw and was unable to remember what had just happened to her, somewhat confused as to what happened for her to be lying on the floor instead of her bed.

The television set had turned back on and the credits for the film her sister had insisted on watching in the early hours were rolling with some campy theme tune. The lights were dimmed as they had been before and she felt like she'd maybe had one of the most awful vivid dreams in her life.

Pushing herself up, she felt weak and light headed only to notice the blood dripping for her head and a few drops where she had laid, staining the wooden floor.

_Oh no._

Unless she'd just tripped so badly that nothing had made sense and she'd been hallucinating, all the things that were slowly coming back to her memory had actually happened. This made her feel even worse and she felt suddenly rather ill.

Noir looked at her peculiarly and her lip and chin began to wobble in fear.

She started call out her parents' names; her sister's just after their names only to find the echo was that much clearer with no reply, no rushing feet to her. She was scared to get up and see the aftermath.

But oh so slowly, she was being confronted by the silent and isolated truth.

After finally heaving herself up as Noir followed her like a cat in need of company, she hobbled all the way to the doorway separating the two sections of the house and seeing the hallway straight to the front door.

The front door itself was on the floor and glass was shattered around from the two intruders entrance. Rain was spilling in from the high winds and she saw something that made her body violently react, slamming to the nearest wall for support.

Her parents. Their bodies' lay lifeless, her father facing downwards and her mother with her arms splayed apart. Her eyes were open, frozen in a moment of fear.

She felt trapped in her own body. She couldn't move – she daren't move. Her head throbbed and she internally begged to anything that might hear her thoughts for mercy from this hell she was witnessing.

It was with great strength from deep down, that she forced herself, to at least crawl over to her parents. The cold winds were sweeping in from the summer rainstorm. She had taken her time and she felt the closer she was getting, the sicker she felt.

Once she had finally reached them, her instincts were telling her the harsh truth. But she refused to believe it. They were just there. They were in front of her. They couldn't be…

Her hand landed on her mother's splayed hand. It was still her skin and bones…but it was different. Her mother's hands had been the most comforting and warm when she was younger…and they still were. But she could feel nothing within them. And soon they too would lose their warmth.

She could feel herself breaking inside with this revelation. She promptly started retching; a reaction she hadn't expected in these circumstances but felt the strongest of all her breaking. It was a mixture of incomprehension and denial. But that part couldn't possibly be true, so neither could this.

She began to hit herself in the head, trying to force herself out of this nightmare.

This couldn't be real, what had just happened couldn't be scientifically or humanly possible. She turned her father over, in hopes the green light hadn't been the infamous one to strike him. Her eyes rushed closed in utmost regret when she saw the same shock of death, a feeling frozen on his features. It looked as though he'd never know peace. The tears were unstoppable.

Her parents couldn't be dead; her sister hadn't been taken.

'Genevieve.'

This wasn't _real_.

'_Genevieve_.'

She continued to hit herself, so hard that she was beginning to get dizzy once more and was probably hurting herself so much that it made it very much real as the nausea began to set in.

'Genevieve!'

It was strange to hear it after so long of being tucked into her personal torture show. With one look back at their bodies – she turned back to the wall and started hammering herself against it.

'_Genevieve_!'

She hadn't seemed to be listening to the different voice, guiding her to stop. She couldn't stop, not if these were the images she got stuck with.

She was grabbed roughly away and hauled from her parents.

'Genevieve stop that, you're going to hurt yourself!' she heard an unfamiliar male voice command her.

Genevieve screamed in genuine fear and fright as she turned around to see a strange man with unkempt features inches away from her, holding her with a grip like no other. The scream had surprised him and his grip slipped, enough for her to get out. She stood her ground, despite the dizziness, and stared the stranger down.

He wore her sister's dressing gown, which was much too small for him and looked rather silly on him. His hair was as long as her own though hadn't been washed in some time. He looked as though he hadn't shaved in months, maybe even years. He wouldn't have looked out of place with the world's most unfortunate people.

Genevieve didn't know this man and was certain he wasn't far off from one of those killers.

'Leave us alone' she cried frightfully as the tears were streaming down her face. The man had held up his hands and very carefully approached her, 'I'm not going to-'

'What do you want from me?' she cowered, her voice wobbling with her sadness and fear, 'you've killed my parents. You took my sister. Unless you want me as well – we have nothing of true value in this house – I – '

'I'm here to help you!' he spoke over her.

This silenced her as her body went rigid. A burning sensation rose within her broken heart and her soul stirred the momentum forward. It was unlike anything she'd felt before but it made her want to scream

'Help me?' she repeated shakily.

Hatred was bubbling up inside her for the man, unrecognisable to her. She wanted him to know the pain she felt so thickly within her eyes and heart.

'How is it possible to help now? My parents are dead and my sister is next too!'

'I know,' he said softly 'It's my fault. I failed you all.'

'What do you mean it's your fault?' Genevieve said in a voice that almost echoed the insanity of the woman who had just left, as the questions she should have been asking began to come to mind. She wished she had kept that knife on her. This man or wizard or whatever he was didn't look like his skin was as durable as the last man she stabbed.

'Who are you?'

She was deathly calm, her voice low and boiling with an underlying hatred she'd just acquired. He looked wary but he tried to hold the best composure of professionalism considering the awful circumstances.

'My name is Dennis. I'm an Auror who has been protecting your family since I arrived as a cat in disguise named Noir,' he spoke with an apologetically posh English accent.

There was a silence that settled in between these words as it came down very hard on Genevieve, her eyes narrowing on the man before her. Auror? Protector?

'You've done a great job then, haven't you?' Genevieve's threatening tone declared.

He looked away from this. There was a deep shame and sadness within them that he couldn't erase.

The Auror admitted again, 'It is my fault, yes.'

His words felt real again, like he had finally hit the gravity of the situation.

Genevieve gave him one last hard glare before ignoring him entirely. She moved toward her parents and took both of their hands and held them to her face. She sobbed without care of her surroundings, the stranger named Dennis and the cold sweeping in from the storm from the now broken off door that lay haphazardly in the entrance hallway.

Genevieve began hearing noises, foreign and yet not so unfamiliar to her. Dennis the wizard had pulled out his wand and began placing spells all over the area of which she mourned. Colours occasionally danced from his wand and sometimes there was nothing but a mirage like movement or no sign a spell had made contact. It made her uneasy. It made her hold her dead parents hands closer. The same anger bubbled up inside from before.

'What are you doing to my house?' she asked in a deathly low tone.

'I'm preserving the scene of the crime,' the man named Dennis said quietly.

'I already know who did it,' Genevieve spoke up, 'and they took my sister. What do you have to _preserve_ at this moment in time?' Genevieve said, looking insulted.

'I may have failed to prevent this situation from happening but that doesn't mean I can skirt on my other procedures,' he explained just a touch stern.

The explanation was acceptable, the timing not so much. Genevieve hadn't been one to speak out against her elders or superiors. She occasionally did when she felt someone else hurt by his or her actions, albeit uncomfortably, but never when it came to her personally.

Considering her parents bodies were just getting cold, she hadn't a care in the world if she offended every single witch or wizard to live. After all, they'd brought her joy while quickly erasing it by violating the lives of her family so egregiously, that it could never be the same again.

'As soon as you're done – just leave, will you,' spoke Genevieve desperately.

The worn out wizard sighed and said, 'I'm afraid that's not going to happen.'

'Your kind has done enough tonight, don't you think?' she questioned louder, the venomous tone clear, even through her devastated tears.

Although he looked taken aback, he stopped himself from responding verbally as she was almost inconsolable at this point. Regardless he would stay, even if it meant keeping guard outside for the next 24 hours.

He began fixing the area around her parents' bodies, the front door lifting up and back onto its hinges, sealing itself properly into place. The broken glass flew back into place, the cracks sealing up until it was no longer evident that it had been broken.

He then disappeared through the door, taking his time in the other room in which Genevieve experienced her injuries. He picked something up off the floor in the kitchen.

The knife gleamed with the blood from one of the intruders. Dennis didn't see who they were but he hoped to get descriptions soon. There were footprints all within the powder left behind where the kitchen and pantry separated from the door that the intruders entered through and he had added to it in his haste to find out what had happened.

Dennis had let this family down. He had grown quite fond of them over his time of being with them. Grief and guilt swam in his stomach like a badly mixed flu potion and his heart hurt more than it did when he lost his own, albeit far more prejudiced and blood concerned family members.

He scanned the area and once done, the memory of evidence was in his wand to recall from when he had a moment from Genevieve to properly digest things.

Clearing up the area, he returned to Genevieve's grieving and noticed her, now a lot quieter, with nearly silent tears, considerably thinking everything over.

Her head hurt immensely just as it felt like her heart was slowly being torn every now again at the thought of her parents being gone, never again to breathe or exist.

Genevieve heard the footsteps of the Auror moving around her and when she felt him moving toward her and her parents, her instinct almost immediately but watched with caution.

'Your head must hurt. Will you let me –'

'No. Don't touch me.'

'But –'

'Leave. Me. Alone.'

The wizard sighed heavily as he backed away from her. There was no use helping her when she wasn't agreeable to his presence. She wasn't in imminent danger, but it sure would have alleviated the pain she was obviously feeling from her injuries. While he considered doing it without her consent, he knew it was crossing a line. Magic seemed to be the last thing she wanted near her in this moment.

Dennis charmed a sheet to appear from thin air and let it gently fall over their bodies. The sheet folded back so their heads were visible. Dennis made his way over to their heads and closed their eyes, so as to give them a more dignified resting pose in death. He then pulled the sheet back over their heads and bowed his head for a moment.

'I'm going to give you time to grieve…tonight we talk…'

She held their unmoving hands in her own still.

* * *

Half way across the world in the dead of the evening in a harsh winter, three bodies appeared in front of a large and ostentatious manor. It stood intimidating to many. The witch sneered at the manor and ordered the brutish and hairy man with the disguised delivery forward.

After many different forms of transport taken through the Wizarding World, Using the International floo system of Asia thrice after apparating from that dastardly large island filled with muggleborns and convicts, port keying through Europe and never being noticed all the while with the many illegal and undetected spells being cast on the blonde victim who had been charmed to look like a sleeping child, they had successfully made it as planned by the ever pedantic Crouch Junior's expectations. Now it was a matter of shoving their victim onto the most able to be hospitable of the few acquitted Death Eaters.

The witch had just endured her first experience of magic-lag after so long from being withheld from magic altogether. She was drained and irritable. But she had done her job. Her master would be proud.

She just hoped the receiver wouldn't screw everything up and play stupid if he got caught - again.

Albino Peacocks were strewn across the path, showing off their beautiful wings to the females. Snow covered everything in sight and while the winds were non-existent this evening, the stark cold was settling into their bones through rag like clothes.

Bellatrix Lestrange and Fenrir Greyback, who had been carrying an unconscious teenage girl who had resisted the child like form placed upon her after a few more Floo trips, walked up a long pathway, which led to the two humongous, oak front doors. Fenrir's wounds were still open in his back and the blood dribbled on his clothes. It only seemed to feel like an irritating itch that he couldn't reach however. His werewolf like hide had consumed his human being after letting the animal that contained him, run him out of cycle as well.

Quickly checking if the area was clear, Bellatrix pulled on the serpent knocker. It was about 9 o'clock at night and at this time of year it was already as dark as any season's midnight.

A minute passed, and a new house elf of the name Selby, opened the door. She looked rather afraid of who she was looking at.

'G-good evening Mistress Lestrange and Greyback, Selby shall fetch Master Lucius,' Selby said trying not to cower, running away from their sight. Fenrir's lip snarled as he hadn't been addressed as Master but Bellatrix silenced him with her frightening stare. According to her outside sources, her disgrace of a cousin had managed to escape Azkaban and there were many on the look out for him. Malfoy Manor was a prime spot for Aurors to detect as it held Black family members, although Barty had been wise to place a distraction further up North in order for them to make the delivery without being caught.

Soon enough, Lucius Malfoy, came striding to the door, closing it slightly so no one else in the manor could hear them. His eyes looked entirely too large and especially frightful as he looked around his sister-in-law and the animal beside her.

'_Bellatrix_! What do you think you're doing here?!' Lucius whispered furiously.

'We're giving you a responsibility,' Bellatrix's voice rasped as she gestured to the blonde girl that Greyback had over his shoulder, wearing suspect Muggle clothing. 'Seeing as you're the only one who can parade yourself in daylight like the good little acquitted lord you are, you have to take her in.'

'You can't _dump_ some muggle into my home!' Lucius spoke harshly, 'What do you think I am? A charity?'

'According to our sources, she's important…unfortunately. She's going to be the Dark Lord's greatest weapon…are you going to disobey the orders of the Dark Lord, Lucius, or keep up with your silly game of politics?'

Lucius looked infuriated to say the least. His mouth set hard and eyes narrowed, he argued, 'How dare you suggest such a thing!'

Bellatrix smirked as he continued.

'I was the one who slipped the diary to the Weasley girl, _I was the one who nearly brought him back_.'

'Not of your own awareness however,' Bellatrix snapped snidely, her unfortunate grin openly showing her years at Azkaban, 'you just thought it would cause the Potter boy some trouble. The least you can do is make sure this goes through without a hitch. The Dark Lord will be sure to punish you if you fail him…again.'

A heart wrenching cold fell over them as her worst memories, though very few now appeared before her as well as the overwhelming feeling of helplessness. Greyback cowered like the dog he was and Lucius looked fearfully toward the sky.

They were the true demons of the Wizarding World, creations so evil that they could never die. But they didn't come for their set duty.

The two haunting Dementors had come to retrieve Bellatrix after she had successfully completed her task, as had been promised to them on the condition she be let out for a few hours.

It seemed that Bellatrix was given a beautiful opportunity, as she had never before been out of her cell since she'd been shoved into it. But the haunting guards of Azkaban had grown tired of their measly pickings with barely a new prisoner to feed from when the heavy influx of Death Eaters sentenced from twelve years ago began to run out of juice.

They had agreed to do the weak Lord Voldemort's bidding with promises of a great number of souls to feed off of in due time, albeit it discreetly now.

And so, no one would ever suspect a convicted murderer who was supposedly in her cell all night and a werewolf who was underground and rarely sighted these days to have travelled thousands of miles across the world for one seemingly useless muggle girl. There was so much more she would offer the Slytherin Heir.

Bellatrix was safe within the Dementors hold, as they resisted on devouring her soul.

They took the long journey to Azkaban, transporting her back to her cell and forced to give her wand back upon arrival outside her cell. She sat in solitude waiting, waiting to be released, waiting to see the Dark Lord arise to where he deserved to reign.

With the departure of the foulest creatures of magic, the chilling cold no longer held them at stake. All that was left was the still winter air.

Lucius' original demeanour returned. He scowled toward Fenrir Greyback; of all creatures he had to be involved with now, and this one dripped blood onto his front step too.

'Explain Greyback! And be quiet! I needn't the rest of the Manor to listen in.'


	4. The Animagus

_Hello again,_

_This is the new chapter 3. It explains things and also questions things. Like possible loopholes, but also gives you an idea of time and things._

_Please, read and enjoy._

_P.S. I started this up again because every time around this year I get into a really big Harry Potter mood. It's always Christmas time for some odd reason._

_J.K. Rowling owns this universe._

_Playlist Suggestion: 'The Will' DH pt.1 Soundtrack (no. 7)._

_(Edited (again): June 2016)_

* * *

Book One

_Chapter Three_

_The Animagus_

Daylight had passed over the bodies of her parents. She knew there wasn't much she could do when she didn't "wake up". The fact that the wizard had passed by her and checked up on her many times, while also walking around the house (and fixing himself a cup of tea at one point as she heard the kettle boil), wouldn't allow her to forget the gravity of the situation, wouldn't let her escape her turmoil for just a brief period.

As the dark of night hit once more, with barely a wink of sleep in her, Genevieve did the unthinkable. She moved away from her parents, letting each hand drop close enough so that they could be linked in death as they had been in life. Genevieve forced herself toward the front door, now fixed back onto its hinges. Opening it lightly she noticed the wizard sitting on the doorstep.

He turned to look at her, and she now noticed subtle differences. Dennis was no longer wearing her sister's dressing gown and with just a little grooming, his physical age dropped by ten years. He wore a muggle outfit beneath a black auror cloak. His beard was still at competition lengths and there was still a lot of drastic shaving to get through, but he certainly didn't have the same look that mirrored Lestrange's unkempt prisoner look, his hair neatly tied back into a small pony tail.

Genevieve stood there briefly before visually suggesting he come back in.

After the area had been doubly secured, Genevieve sat at the dining table on the other side of the kitchen.

Without her permission, although by this time he didn't want to hear refusal as even she still felt quite dizzy admittedly, he began properly cleaning her wounds by her head and the scratch left by Greyback in his need to draw even more fresh blood from her just beneath her hairline. She seethed a lot during the process before feeling bandages and such being secured on them.

'Best I can do for now.'

Genevieve saw herself in the reflection of a frame. She looked back at him in disbelief.

He shrugged apologetically, 'I can only do the most basic stuff. I'll talk to my mate about the state of your hair.'

He moved back into the kitchen and Dennis heated up the teapot with magic – forcing her to look away in a reactionary manner she couldn't control. Once he placed the teapot down in front of her, along with two cups, pouring it in for hers and his, she was watching him again.

Every twitch, every glance, she took it all in. Why was he here? Why couldn't he save her parents? He had a wand. It had been his duty to protect her family. How did he fuck up so badly?

She mixed in far too much sugar as she always did with just a drop of milk with her tea. Dennis did no sugar and instead a lot of milk, constantly stirring and watching the ripples disappear.

Genevieve took a sip. Dennis took a sip. It went on for far too long and became quite agonising. She couldn't think of a question that would be extremely accusatory and hostile. It was difficult to try and start a conversation with those thoughts in mind. Genevieve had to go back to basics if she was going to get through this. She had to pretend that her parents were merely sleeping and that her sister would be back soon with some fast food to carry on until dawn.

She had to pretend to be okay.

'So you're meant to be one of my cats?'

'Yes,' Dennis replied, surprised she broke the silence. He fiddled with his cup before adding, 'I'm Noir to be precise. Petra is a completely normal cat, by the way, nothing weird there.'

He was careful. Far more than before. Everything had happened. Dennis had to pick up the pieces and mend what was left the best he could. He just had to approach this very fresh situation carefully.

Genevieve was coming to the slow realisation he might've been an animagus in her pretending.

She had to stop herself from calling out, "_it's not real, none of it." _

Her mind was pushing for her to feel reality.

Genevieve instead opted for balling up her hands into tight fists stubbornly. It hadn't worked. Pretending wasn't working anymore. She couldn't stop herself for certain now.

'This isn't logical.'

'It mightn't be to you,' she heard him reply quietly, 'but it's all real, everything that's happened, it all exists…' Dennis said sorrowfully.

Genevieve stood up, holding back as much frustration as she could, after all it was rather exhausting after no sleep and a constant pounding headache from the hours of crying as well as her wounds from being thrown across the bloody room. She walked over to the couches and found the book that caused this all.

She practically threw the book at the so-called auror when she came back to the dining table and pointed to it in his hands.

'This is all fictional, _a nightmare_ that I am having because I've been reading these books since I was ten years old and I remember far too much detail from them than I should my own fucking school work. _Bellatrix Lestrange_ is not real, _Fenrir Greyback_ isn't real and you, whoever the hell you're meant to be, you aren't _real _either. My parents aren't… shouldn't be _dead._'

The tears were coming afresh as she fell silent. The images were too close. She pictured their bodies and began to weep at the table. Dennis stopped himself from staring at the books in his hands as he held onto her and slowly felt her hold on desperately back. He'd managed to get some information, but it all seemed lost on her.

As she quietened down over a small period of time, Dennis found his time to console her. He thought of the only thing that made him care.

'For nearly ten years I've felt what it's like to be a part of a real family. And that's because of what you all were combined. Definitely not perfect, but certainly far from what I once thought was a normal, happy family…'

Genevieve didn't say anything to this, as she only had more questions bubbling inside her morose being.

Once she regained control, she was handed a tissue box and her tea back to her. She took another sip of hers as he took a gulp. Dennis raked his hands through his hair as he tried to think where to begin.

'Over nine years ago, Albus Dumbledore sent me here after hearing a prophecy. He's heard many prophecies before but when he heard this one, he began making plans as he figured each clue. One of those plans was to send an auror in for protection to the family he thought was most likely going to be linked with the prophecy with a couple of others sent out to two other families. My being an animagus is also a big reason I'm here. The ministry think I'm on some major case, so don't really spare a thought and my higher up Kingsley has been keeping it under control since, otherwise the Australian Ministry might get the wrong impression of why I'm here.'

Dennis closed his eyes for a brief moment to track where he was going, afraid he might lose his point.

'I was originally just going to be the stray who hung around, but when the opportunity came, I took it and I was picked at the pound.'

Picking the book up off the table that she'd given him, he handed it back to her but before he could explain, she gave it back to him firmly. Her attention wasn't on the book but the answers that she needed.

'What was this prophecy?'

Dennis closed his eyes and concentrated as best as possible, trying to go back from his memory to the night Dumbledore briefed him. Dennis had been under the belief that he was truly gone, especially after he'd lost so many dear friends and colleagues, until he'd been brought in by Albus Dumbledore for a mission for the Order.

'_Two girls won't be recognised. They will continue on with their lives, until one fateful night, when they are both ready for the picking. Tragedy will strike, fatal to those they love while separating them. With aid of books and ancestry, one will show the Red Eye its path, while the other will guide Lightening to its destiny. Only these two can decipher the words of written fate and see it change before their very eyes. Only the end of a line will bring peace to their own. Only the end will see them reunited__. They will be known as the Readers_.'

When Dennis finished, he opened his eyes and looked to Genevieve, she looked incredibly confused.

'What does it mean?' she asked immediately, but before he could answer she stopped him. The disbelief in her eyes was pungent.

'Albus Dumbledore is real?'

'You just saw two infamous death eaters in the flesh, didn't you?' he asked of her.

'Yes, but…that means…' Genevieve picked up the book from his hands, 'all this happened, in real life. There is another world out there, a magical world…one that's out to get me.'

'I'll try and explain everything as best as I can,' Dennis said sympathetically.

Genevieve didn't bother trying to stop him, only nodding for him to continue.

'The books you are reading, these books about Harry Potter…well it's basically written word of his life.'

While she had just about experienced everything that she hadn't wanted to, this had to have been the cherry on top of bullshit she was currently dealing with.

'J.K. Rowling wrote about a real boy's life for profit?' Genevieve asked sceptical.

Dennis sighed and supposed things couldn't be so clean cut. 'Janette Kimberly Skeeter did.'

Genevieve looked concerned when he continued, 'She is the cousin of Rita Skeeter, you might recall.'

'The gossip journalist who gets around via her illegal animagus.'

'Well - wait, she's an animagus?'

Genevieve's brow dipped as she stared at him incredulously.

'Right,' Dennis said sheepishly, 'I'll get on with it,' and he paused before briefly thinking where to continue.

'Janette's a squib see. She had access to both the Wizarding and Muggle world but like most squibs felt like she didn't belong in either. Janette had a particular ability to write, although she went down a highly illegal route to get an original story instead of making up one of her own. Her mother happened to be an Unspeakable. She broke the code and unlocked the largest file under protection in the Department of Mysteries and handed it over to her daughter to write back in 1990. That was when your prophecy was made, the night her mother got her hands on this file.'

'And I'm meant to believe that you're speaking about Harry Potter's file?'

Dennis frowned in confusion, 'Why not?'

'Because it's not possible,' Genevieve said confused, chewing on her lip, 'He's meant to be…I don't know…27 years old if he exists? He was born in 1980, graduated class of 1998. I know that for a fact. There's no reason for this to be…a thing.'

The wizard before her had his shoulders slump, and his expression fell at hearing this. He carefully eyed her and shook his head in response as she slowly grew to look more frustrated.

'Janette changed the years around to relate to the time she was writing in. The files were returned within a month. Janette changed her name for the books and had them published by a muggle company. The first book was published in the summer of 1997 and once the rest of the world was wrapped up in it, it was too late.'

Genevieve sighed quietly. This entire situation was harrowing and all she was getting was more information. She was really too tired for this.

As she put her elbow on the table, she decided to put her head in her waiting hand to support her aching skull. She silently implored the new wizard to continue when his brow rose slightly in concern of her wellbeing.

'The highest in the ministry let Janette continue to publish so long as the magical world didn't receive word of it and so we are unable to read it or comprehend it, Merlin even look at it,' Dennis gestured to the book, 'and so long as they got a cut of the profits.'

Keep up the story. Keep up the distraction. Genevieve could feel herself getting worse in her stomach, but she needed the fantasy in this minute.

'Somebody discovered the books when the enchantment started to crack over time and Dumbledore caught wind of this. Everyone involved faced the consequences except for Janette. She disappeared well before the discovery. Once they tracked down the publisher, the books found their conclusion at it's seventh and the entire world couldn't be _obliviated_.'

A brief pause fell over them as Genevieve looked toward the book she placed on the table curiously. It was the last one after all. The one so many had lined up for at Midnight on July 31st. She got it the day they opened up the boxes at her local bookshop: one for her and one for Evangeline so they wouldn't squabble over sharing. It had been the biggest deal for her, to finally know the fates of her favourites and her despised characters. Her sister saw it as a sign of completion.

Who knew a few books could cause so much trouble?

She really shouldn't have been so caught up in memories when Dennis was so clearly oblivious to her thoughts.

'-Harry and a few others have a rather large compensation gain from it, but many of us wish it never happened in the first place.'

If that was true, Genevieve was certain that he wouldn't need to work a day in his life ever again. Another thing still plagued her however.

'But Janette _is_ still about, otherwise who the hell is the woman going around as the author?' Genevieve countered.

'The Rowling you see now is a double that's controlled by the muggles. They were told over some insane phone call from Janette that she went into hiding because of some Christian terrorists trying to take her life – I don't understand muggle threats, but it apparently worked on them.'

'The more devout Christians have been burning the books and banning them in some schools,' Genevieve said, seeing reason in this, albeit weakly. She swallowed painfully as she took another look at the colourful illustration on the cover. These people were supposedly real.

'So you can't read these books?' Genevieve shrewdly asked.

He shook his head and said, 'All I see is a constant swirling image. None of it makes sense and sometimes I'm seeing Arabic symbols, sometimes even Gobble-de-Gook if I catch a word or two. It's always changing and I can never comprehend it.'

Genevieve considered the reaction to the book and took a moment to think about what wouldn't make sense.

'If he's real, how old is he?' Genevieve said, pointing to the illustration of Harry. Dennis looked confused and she realised her mistake. He couldn't even see Harry's illustration. But he looked aware of the young man in mind regardless.

'If memory serves me correct, Harry should be in his third year at Hogwarts. He'll be fourteen this July.'

Genevieve looked painfully at the book. 'He's only thirteen?'

'Yes,' Dennis replied carefully.

Her eyes closed in regret, her mind now solely consumed by the issue at hand. She carefully thought about her next question before asking it.

'How accurately detailed are these books supposed to be?'

She had a feeling she already knew.

'Once you take out dates and possibly a couple of other exceptions, almost every word from the file.'

She wondered if Dennis saw her eye twitch.

This book, this series that had captivated a better part of her childhood, that she only dreamed had been real, actually was but all for the worse. She knew what was going to happen to this _boy_ up until he was 36! She knew far too much out of the books. Genevieve knew who would live and who would die.

Her parents had already died because of it. She'd already been dragged through the misery of what a fictional character went through. Parents dead, no family left…well.

Evangeline was left. But if the Wizarding World had any involvement in her life, the chances of her dying were a lot higher than they'd been when they'd been blissfully ignorant of magic. Why did they take her? What use was a bloody muggle anyway?

When Dennis saw the honest conflict in her expression he knew this wasn't going to be easy.

'Why did they take Evangeline?' Genevieve asked before he could speak.

Dennis himself felt conflicted when his eyes averted away from hers, 'They won't hurt her. It would affect her use to them if they did, they need her alive and well.'

'Okay, so why do they need her?' Genevieve asked, her frustration rising.

'-One will show the Red Eye its path, while the other will guide Lightening to its destiny,' Dennis repeated the line from the prophecy.

Genevieve's face showed that of pure anger and she couldn't stop her rant from even beginning.

'Hundreds of millions of people have read these books. It's been translated into probably a hundred languages and you're telling me this _prophecy _decided to pick us? There are children in the British Isles who have read these books, some far more fanatical than _I_ am. You're telling me it chose us, two girls who live in fucking _Australia_? Bit far off the geographical spectrum from the amount of people fate has to choose from!' her voice growing louder and angrier and her face becoming pinker with the inner cursing to whatever sinister God put her family in this position.

'You and your sister were born in Europe, were you not?' Dennis questioned.

'Yes, but surely _fate_ understands that some people move. My sister was born in an entirely different country to me! Fate knows who's going to live in the same country for all their life and who will read an entire 7 book series. It's a little inconvenient, isn't it? Bellatrix Lestrange travelled all the way from Azkaban for one night and it had to be a long haul?' Genevieve said, her voice growing more maniacal at what she was hearing herself say.

'Your parents were warned.'

This shock that stopped Genevieve from the angry motions she was going through was felt through the room. She'd been caught so off guard by this revelation, that it was a good moment for him to use to explain.

'I don't know who warned them or even how they discovered them to hold those who would one day have to bear the burden of this prophecy. I just know that they fled and when they had you, they took the opportunity to go to Australia when it came to them, because soon enough, people went looking for you in Europe and your parents were rightly paranoid and thought that being here meant you would be safe away from all that,' Dennis countered as clinically as he could.

Her parents _knew_? Shaking her head of these thoughts she took action, 'Stuff the prophecy,' Genevieve exclaimed as the tears started afresh, 'Fuck it all. You and those _people_ could still use a couple muggles closer to home! _Why us? Why them?!_

Her tears had really started up again, to the point that she could see Dennis' eyes showing the unprofessional concern and sympathy at seeing her go into further despair.

'I don't know why the prophecy chose you,' Dennis said quietly, as he questioned going all the way to Australia for who knows how long of his life all those years ago. He questioned many things about the entire prophecy, such as why they couldn't just use any muggle who'd read the book and just Obliviate them afterwards.

'I asked all the questions I could before I undertook this duty. Many of them barely got answered, and the few answers were that you'd been identified as muggle in your birth, your father being identified as squib in his birth due to some weak links still left in him. You were only identified as such because your father was technically the seventh down his line to be identified as squib making it final and yet seemingly obsolete in you and your sister. It _might _be why fate decided to direct your lives this way.'

Her tears were silent and as she shook her head in disbelief, 'This is ridiculously unfair.'

'I know…I'm so sorry,' he said gently.

Genevieve slowed only so much and she wiped them away and let out a deep breath.

'I know magic only goes so far…there's nothing left for them. I need to do the arrangements…see how they wanted to be laid to rest.'

'I'll take care of that,' Dennis stated sincerely, 'I'll get in touch with the Ministry in Sydney. They'll make sure everything goes without notice within your muggle life too.'

'What do you mean?' Genevieve questioned suddenly.

Dennis looked weary, but he straightened up before he had to speak the harsh truth.

'If you want to find your sister, you will need to fulfil this prophecy…if people remember you exist here, they will begin to ask questions and then soon enough the muggle government will question everything and it just becomes a big mess…'

'So what happens next?' she asked as she clued everything together, constantly wiping tears away.

'You'll be moving back with me to England.'

Her heart plummeted.

In one night, her entire life had been shaken abruptly to its core. If she had any relatives left, she would have to tell them her parents were gone too.

Sourly, she remembered that there really was no one left.

Genevieve had grown accustomed with death over the last few years. Her grandparents had died three years ago in their sleep, despite no signs showing ill health or heart issues, and her father's oldest brother and his in law passed in a tragic and unexplainable accident. Years prior to that, her musician uncle had passed away after finding out he had been diagnosed with HIV/AIDS. Her only cousin had been unreachable since the accident and there was nothing to be done for it. She wouldn't be surprised if something had happened to him too. It had kept her father up some nights, as she recollected walking in on him looking at a photograph of his nephew in his young age with a sorrow she hadn't seen in some time.

Genevieve threw her head back to withhold the fresh tears threatening to break. She drank the rest of her lukewarm tea once she managed it and felt Petra rubbing up against her leg soon after.

The fluffy ginger cat never made her feel more sick at the thought of leaving…everything she'd ever known was here, in the safety of home.

In these thoughts of her safe haven, she felt her eyes closing, from sheer exhaustion and rested her head against the table.

Maybe, just maybe, she'd wake up yesterday.


	5. A New Beginning

_JK Rowling owns this universe._

_Playlist Suggestion: 'Harry and Ginny' DH Pt 1 (no. 6)._

_(Edited: June 2016)_

_(Song: '__Look To The Rainbow' - Finian's Rainbow__ in a Russian lullaby style)_

* * *

Book One

_Chapter Four_

_A New Beginning_

Two weeks had passed since that night.

The night Evangeline was kidnapped and their parents were killed. Murdered.

Genevieve tried her hardest not to think about it. She feared the moment that she would succumb to sleep for some time after. When she shut her eyes she saw their dead bodies so clearly, and she could feel their hands growing colder again.

During her days when she wasn't a recluse to her room, she could pretend it had never happened. Genevieve would think her parents were just on a holiday and her sister was at a friend's house nursing a nasty hangover. But there was the one indicator that made everything seem so final, and it was growing more insignificant although the mark would remain forever.

The scratch that Greyback left behind on her face made everything feel surreal and yet so concrete.

Her parents were dead, and her sister had been taken for some prophecy that was arguable in its interpretation. But Dennis seemed certain that it was her and her sister that needed to complete this. Genevieve refused to believe there wasn't a "Neville" to her prophecy, but often gave up on the argument because it wore her down quickly and put Dennis in a difficult situation.

She didn't think Dennis was capable of this. He didn't think so either. So she tried to get along most of the time by her own. But the signs were clear; she wasn't ready to move on.

Her eyes had always had dark circles, but they had worsened over time. Life had left for a short while, unsure of when it would return to brighten her eyes again.

She was packing the last few boxes in the back room, while Dennis was sending them off through the floo system he'd secretly had put in while they were out during the days for school and work years back. It had explained how he had a constant update of information from over nine years of being their house pet, particularly on the subject of the constant progression of the understanding of their prophecy. Two fireplaces were linked to it, and one of them had been Albus Dumbledore's. The other was Dennis' old home, with which a lot of things had been sent through to.

The rest of the furniture was covered and most personal affects sent off with everything else she felt she needed to keep close to her.

In a very obvious sense, they could've finished packing within a day. Dennis was a wizard after all. But that was the one thing Genevieve didn't want to do as her last task in the home she grew up in. Dennis stopped suggesting it after the second day when she snapped at him. His lack of human interaction had made him less aware at times.

Dennis was handsome with few quirks, the small scar by his chin showing more significantly once he shaved off his beard, and his overall personality reflecting how odd he'd been as a cat, and yet how he was the better looking one next to Petra. Once he'd properly been washed, she could believe that he was in fact 31 years of age, and she felt sort of sad that he'd spent nearly ten years of his youthful adult life in his cat form with only few moments to return to being human.

He had easily groomed dark brown hair and some stubble on his face, with tanned skin from the sun he spent lying in as Noir and green eyes with hints of amber in them, which resembled his cat eyes over time. His body was changing over time. There was a bit of a reaction when he saw himself chubby, when he had changed into his human form and saw himself naked in the mirror. Genevieve didn't really think the daily two-hour exercises were necessary, but she assumed his heritage made him partly vain.

She had discovered that he was a rather intelligent wizard on top of his vanity, graduating as one of the few top of his class as a Ravenclaw, was a pureblood to what was a typically prejudiced family who died fighting on the sympathetic Death Eater side when Aurors raided their home and happened to be the only child left to take his parents home, despite his clear dislike of what his family once was. He was in fact related to the only Davies she could remember from the book, though they only managed to be second cousins, one or twice removed and rarely saw each other as _that_ Davies family didn't quite understand the stigma behind not being of noble blood.

Nobody knew the whereabouts of her family. Once Dennis had permission from the Ministry of Magic in Sydney, he erased any memory of her family from her school, her family's friends and anywhere else he could. Previous to that, her sister's ex boyfriend had popped by to check in on her when she stopped texting him. Dennis had to act quickly. It was the strangest and most uncomfortable experience to watch silently as someone completely innocent and unaware had magic used upon them to erase their memory and slowly looked confused at who she was and what he was doing there in her kitchen.

It wasn't easy for Genevieve to have her life erased, having to accept what fate had in store for her.

Learning about the Wizarding World in Australia was a good distraction though. According to Dennis, Australia's equivalent of Hogwarts didn't exist and the few magical beings who lived and practised magic were most likely taught in New Zealand's South Island boarding school: Mākutu College for Magical Beings. Australia's Aborigine tribes had practiced wandless magic for thousands of years but the invasion of the Europeans almost made that aspect of their society extinct along with many of their people who practiced. They had managed to practice it among non-magical Aborigine folk without being persecuted for it too, but with the ridiculous superstitions of the white wizards, they held back within the white society as instructed by their majority white run Ministry. The outback had fewer communities still practicing, but they were still there in happy hidden isolation. It was one of the most interesting history lessons she'd ever had.

Genevieve was currently fiddling with a couple of items she had always thought might be more than what they were originally perceived to be thanks to her new knowledge. There was a crystal ball, like all "psychics" had. She guessed this was from a few centuries ago, remembering her Dad telling her the family history. One of his ancestors was a supposed "psychic" and a "mind reader", though most of the people in the family labelled her as "nuts". She figured the crystal ball was quite likely just that.

She then picked up the last item that she remembered from her childhood.

Her grandmother had given it to their family in the will their grandparents had left behind. It was a round music box, a very old and beautifully detailed one that had been very carefully kept. It played a few different tunes, the lullabies that her family had been sung to as children by their ancestors.

She hadn't wound it up in years and wondered what condition it was in after all this time.

Genevieve wound it up, hoping it would all work out. The tune of the lullabies came on. She closed her eyes. Her voice began to quietly reciting them from a memory she thought she lost long ago.

'_On the day I was born,__  
__Said my father, said he.__  
__I've an elegant legacy__  
__Waitin' for ye,'_

_'Tis a rhyme for your lips__  
__And a song for your heart,__  
__To sing it whenever__  
__The world falls apart.'_

'I haven't heard that play since I got here.'

She was clearly startled by this and went red in the face as she was delving into her past memories.

Petra came striding into the room, rubbing against Dennis's leg, purring as loud as ever as she left fur all over her new human who she seemed to like more than Genevieve.

'You almost finished? We've got to get going soon,' Dennis said awkwardly, noticing she'd looked uncomfortable to be caught in a private moment.

Genevieve's lack of sleep had left her to be up at all hours of the night and so leaving her house an hour to midnight didn't concern her. They would make it by noon in Pewsey, England through the floo system. She put the crystal ball back in its protective bubble wrap, as well as the music box within the other items. Closing the flaps to the cardboard box she let Dennis seal it up properly before heaving it up and handing it over to him.

She finally decided to answer his question.

'Yeah, I just have to do something,' Genevieve said unable to look him in the eye.

'Alright, I'll leave you to it,' Dennis replied. He walked away down the hall, Petra following him like the fluffy and loving meat-bag she was.

When everything was packed and sent off to England to Dennis' home, it was almost time to leave. He had told Genevieve not to fuss over his home, because he hadn't seen it in a while so didn't know what state it was in whether or not Andy was staying and keeping care of the place.

Apparently, this guy Andy was a slob. Remembering her own pigsty of a bedroom, she decided not to comment upon this. Didn't seem to stop Dennis talking about Andy like he was the best thing since sliced bread. She was coming to the idea that he might've been in love with the fellow and that he hadn't seen him in nine years.

Dennis quickly came back, having clearly forgotten something.

'You have full inheritance of this residence. You can come here whenever you wish to. It's invisible to everyone, but you and whoever else you want to be able to see it. I'm sorry I didn't mention it sooner…I just didn't know how to, you know…'

Genevieve brushed it off uncomfortably.

'I'm not really sure I'll come back here for a long time, not without…' but stopped herself from saying it. Chances were, she mightn't be able to fulfil that thought.

Changing the subject really quickly, she inquired about the condition instead.

'So this house will be left the way it was?'

He solemnly nodded.

Genevieve quietly sighed as she looked around the place. 'Okay.'

'Did you want one last look, Genevieve?'

She nodded stiffly. She didn't want to take one last look. Saying goodbye to a house was ridiculous. But she wasn't really saying goodbye to the house. She was leaving part of her parents here. She didn't really want to leave at all.

Dennis had explained to her she was like a missing piece of the puzzle to helping the reunion of the Order but specifically to Harry and Dumbledore. And it was the only way she'd get Evangeline back for good.

Eventually she had accepted this. She didn't have to like it nor was she certain she'd be good at, whatever this prophecy presupposed she'd be doing, but she had to put up with it if she wanted a semblance of peace in her life again.

Insignificant moments of happiness and sadness overcame her thoughts as she looked over the front half of her house, but it always landed on her parents being dead and Evangeline being kidnapped. It was soured and she didn't think she could walk through that front door if she came back.

She walked on further, through the door, which connected front and back ends of the house. Where she stabbed Greyback and her sister beat Bellatrix Lestrange with a broom.

Years of simplicity, of something she knew she took for granted, all mostly spent in this house. All of it was gone.

That was when she came to her bedroom, her sanctuary for the past nine years.

Memories flooded in, as she looked around the room, of her growing up and her room being different colours every time she matured that bit more. She closed the door to her sanctuary of her past happiness.

Genevieve desperately wiped the stray tears away and tried to look up at the ceiling, to stop the heavier flow from ruining her for the next hour. Breathing quickly, she managed to push it all away and hold it back in.

She closed the door to every room in the house, but Genevieve was not finished yet.

Dennis was getting the floo-powder ready, and asked her, 'Done?'

'No, I um…just have one last thing to do.'

Opening the one of the back doors, the lights outside turned on automatically as she went out to the backyard, Dennis instinctively following her. There was a decking, with a couple of steps to a garden, where a small portion of her parents' ashes were spread. There was a gravestone of her parents created by Dennis, but with Genevieve's wording.

_Spread across this garden,__  
__Are the ashes of,__  
__Anne Taylor,__  
__A witty woman, who was lovely, independent, and strong__  
__Padarn Taylor,__  
__A man of many wonders, kindness and of course, a child at heart__  
__May They Rest In Peace._

'_I go to seek a Great Perhaps.'__  
__\- Francois Rabelais_

Dennis chose to stay afar so that she could have her privacy, inching closer every now and again.

Genevieve smiled tearfully. It would be a long time, before she visited this place again.

Tears started to flow down her cheeks and before she knew it, she was pouring out her feelings. She didn't want to in front of the Auror, but she knew this was it.

'I wish you'd just told us. I really wish you had.'

She had to stop herself from weeping, but only found it made her want to weep more.

'I miss you so much already…'

She then placed a kiss on the tombstone and immediately got up and saw Dennis standing just above her as she fell into his embrace, for the first time since that first conversation.

With his hand placed on her shoulder consolingly, he pulled out his wand and slowly she watched as various white flowers grew in their place.

They stayed there together like that for ten minutes before Genevieve couldn't take it any longer.

One day she hoped that she would be braver than this. No longer would she be an emotional wreck, she would be stronger, like she had promised herself. She would be resilient beyond all measure, if anything was going to get done.

Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. Soon enough they became hard and ready to leave the burden floating around in the atmosphere in the house. She breathed in and knew she wasn't ready, but that she wouldn't break into a million pieces if she left now.

Approaching the cat cage that had an unhappy Petra sitting inside, she looked into her yellow eyes as the feline looked back into her blue ones, with her head tilted to the side, meowing in protest.

She looked sadly upon the figment of normality in her family. Sighing Genevieve said to the cat, 'We're going to our new home, Petra.'

She then stood up straight, as she saw Dennis holding the two urns that held the rest of her parents' ashes.

'Ready when you are,' Dennis said simply.

'What do I say to get to your place?' she asked, her tone gluggy from crying. Genevieve wasn't sure she'd been told before, and was just too numb to be listening to the plan coming up to the date of their departure.

'Davies Manor, England,' Dennis replied nonchalantly.

Genevieve's whole expression changed when he said "manor".

'Manor? You live in a manor and you plan on telling me this now?' she asked him incredulously.

'What did you expect, a small house in the countryside? I'm a pureblood, my whole family boasted about their wealth, which wasn't a lie. Go on.'

'Alright, alright,' She held Petra's cage steadily in one hand and walked into the empty fireplace, wary of what might happen. She figured if she was going to be pulled away into a fireplace soon and spit out the other side, it wouldn't hurt to ask the question that kept her speculating away from the thoughts of her family.

'Dennis can ask you something?' Genevieve tread carefully, with a look of curiosity in her eyes and yet a certain reluctance; with what she was about to ask, she wasn't sure if she would bring up certain issues. It was good to finally have an answer though.

'Yeah sure, what is it?' Dennis asked giving a puzzled expression.

'It doesn't matter either way to me. It might explain why your family were more than dicks to you. I mean, be a bigot in one area, tends to follow a pattern with other things people don't understand.'

Dennis watched her with confusion and gestured for her to continue.

'Are you gay?'

Dennis cocked an eyebrow at her.

'No…what made you think?' he asked of her confused.

'No reason,' said Genevieve looking unconvinced. He just seemed to really appreciate this Andy guy.

He handed her the floo powder while still looking really confused.

Once it began, she felt warm and closed her eyes, her cat giving a low growl at not being comfortable of being inside these green flames despite the easy temperature.

'Davies Manor, England,' Genevieve said definitively, so she made sure she was clear.

She felt the invisible force around her suck her in and take her beyond the limits of her personal muggle universe. Petra hissed throughout the experience.


	6. Andy

_J.K. Rowling owns this universe._

_Playlist Suggestion: _

'_The Living Sculptures of Pemberley,' Pride &amp; Prejudice 2005 Soundtrack._

'_Dawn,' Pride &amp; Prejudice 2005 Soundtrack._

* * *

Book One

_Chapter Five_

_Andy_

Finally after what she felt was far too long an experience, Genevieve was thrown out of a fireplace, tumbling away until she banged into a wall, or a couch or a table. She couldn't really tell if she ended up in the right place.

However, she didn't hear any exclamations or screams. That was a good sign, wasn't it?

'Hello? Genevieve?'

Said girl turned in her position on the floor. She caught sight of a Mediterranean woman with lime green robes on, the most outstanding thing about her person. She had inviting dark brown eyes, light brown hair and the kindest smile she'd seen in some time. The woman held out her hand out to Genevieve.

While she took it, Genevieve stumbled once or twice before gaining her feet back. She gave her host a quick look again, considering the odd choice in clothing. On the pocket of her robe were the initials St. Mungo's MM&amp;I.

As the new arrival stared at her Healer host gormlessly, the as yet unnamed host went to upright the cage Petra was in and open the small door for the trapped creature to let her flee within the open space allowed to her. The woman, shorter than Genevieve now that the younger girl stood fully and also a bit rounder thanks to her stature held out her hand in greeting. Genevieve took the gesture, but it turned into the hug she hadn't expected from a perfect, albeit considerate stranger.

'It's so good to finally meet you Genevieve,' the woman squeezed her, a lovely English accent sifting through. Soon after, she released Genevieve from her hold to take a good look at her and smile politely again.

'I'm Amelia Cunningham – formally anyway, but you can just call me Andy.'

'You're Andy?' asked Genevieve as the gears started turning in her head, 'I assumed you'd be a guy?'

'It's not the first time, believe me,' Andy shrugged with a small smile.

Genevieve brushed herself down as Andy offered a seat for her, as all the soot went toward the fireplace. Her jeans were a bit grubby, and she definitely wanted to change her ash-ridden top.

Once she got a good look, she assessed Andy to be quite a pretty but sensible looking woman around Dennis' age.

It was then Genevieve had a chance to judge the new home by the first room she'd seen.

She was definitely in a stately manor, the room itself much larger than her open kitchen and lounge plan at home, and it didn't look like it was the main room of the manor. They were in the living room of the house, or what they probably called the drawing room, and over the top of the fireplace, was a polished wood mantle where a large portrait of a family who didn't look pleased by her addition moved _and_ spoke to her.

This shouldn't have really surprised her anymore. So many strange and _magical_ things had happened in front of her with just a flick of Dennis's wand, although it was rare thanks to her first experience conflicting her witnessing it often. She supposed she had never seen the affects that the magic surrounds took on. Absolutely everything seemed to have a life of its own in the Wizarding World.

'- I can't believe the Mudblood brought in another!'

'- You better not touch my good silver!'

After some decidedly choice words from the family in the portrait, Genevieve decided to put her undivided attention on Andy. The family looked rather insulted she and Andy existed in their space and continued to voice their opinions despite being left unheard.

'So why Andy?' asked Genevieve curiously.

'I grew up around a few Amelia's. Andy just stuck as a nickname through to my adulthood.'

'Neat,' Genevieve said, unsure of how to reply and still slightly distracted by the painting in the corner of her eye who continued to despair over her sitting on their chairs.

'Oh don't mind them, they don't say much else other than pureblood nonsense,' Andy brushed off.

Andy being a healer, thought it necessary to check Genevieve over after not only her first floo trip but her first long haul floo trip and being a muggle, it made it ten times more likely she'd get symptoms of something ghastly.

While she was being examined, she looked over the witch in front of her and could see that she was clearly something an overachiever like Dennis Davies would fall for: confident, lovely, intelligent enough to have become a Healer and beautiful.

'No wonder Dennis never shut up about his _best mate_ Andy.'

'I'm sorry, what was that?' Andy asked confused.

Genevieve hadn't realised she said that out loud.

'Oh! It's a good "no wonder". Dennis never shut up about you.'

Andy went a little pink as she asked; 'He's spoken to you about me?'

Genevieve sent a small smile, 'He probably talked about you every day.'

Her face fell slightly afterward.

Maybe she shouldn't have been as vocal of Dennis' amount of "Andy" in those spare conversations they would have while packing to take Genevieve's mind off grieving for a little while.

It was becoming more obvious to her. Maybe ten years made the heart grow fonder, especially when there was no other attractive human female to interact with that wasn't the same age. The last time he would have seen her, he would have been 21 years old, both in the prime of their youth…why the hell would he take on such a task, not knowing how long it would last?

Things were beginning to click and Genevieve wasn't sure how comfortable she'd be if she were present when these two reunited.

Dennis expertly controlled his arrival and stepped out the fireplace only to hear silence from the two other occupants but threats from the painting above him.

'Look who's turned up after _ten_ years!' cried the older woman in the painting. 'Left my beautiful home in the hands of a _mudblood_ only to gather dust. She _fired _the house elves. Useless!'

'They died when you collapsed half the house to escape the aurors, which you _failed_ to do,' Dennis replied half heartedly, turning to it and saying, 'Mother, Father, Cuthbert, Elfrida, Osborne, Dorothea.'

Each turned their noses up at him as he smiled sarcastically in return.

Dennis neatly brushed himself down, still not noticing anyone else in the room, he looked around and said, quite bitterly, 'Home, sweet, home, hey Genevieve.'

He looked to Genevieve, but was caught in a position where he couldn't move his head anywhere else when he came across her.

Andy became slightly shy under his gaze and looked away.

Without hesitation, Dennis smiled the biggest smile Genevieve had ever seen on his face. It was almost strange.

Dennis walked up to Andy and hugged her tightly, just like he did all those years before when he left. She was the only one with the knowledge of his departure. Andy stood up on her tiptoes and held him tightly back. She didn't want to let him go. Elated, she squeezed her eyes shut so she wouldn't do something stupid, like crying.

'I missed you so much you tool,' Andy said quietly which slightly surprised Genevieve but only made Dennis hold her closer.

'I missed you too Andy.'

Genevieve felt rather awkward. If he'd told her this was clearly a woman he had feelings for, then she would've left that room in 2 minutes with pre directions to her new room. Genevieve picked up Petra's cage once the cat decided it wasn't leaving the safe vessel any time soon. Genevieve wished she could leave but knew she'd have to interrupt if she wanted to get to this room Dennis promised her.

'Andy, could you just tell me where my room is?' Genevieve asked stiffly.

'Sure dear,' said Andy, breaking the tight embrace, trying to wipe her eyes without him noticing. Nothing could have been more obvious.

'Just walk down the main corridor, go up the staircase, turn right from there and the door at the end of the hall is your bedroom,' said Andy breezily. She knew this house better than anyone else, probably even more than Dennis did now.

'Thanks,' Genevieve smiled sincerely.

'Do you need me to guide you there, I can if you'd like me to?'

'Oh no, I'll be fine. Besides it looks like you two have a lot of catching up to do,' she said in particular to Dennis.

He looked sheepish to say the least before she left them alone.

Genevieve walked down the long, main corridor with Petra meowing uncomfortably at the unknown smells around her. It was musty but old houses always smelled like that. The Manor itself wasn't overly large to her relief, although she managed to get lost twice. She found herself at a dead end the second time when a gas lamp lit up to direct her the opposite way.

Magic or ghosts?

Either way, she was grateful. Directions had never been her strong suit.

Finally she came up to a large Victorian era door, which was black with gold outlined on the door design.

Genevieve looked at in some disdain. Old school purebloods had awful taste. It was beautifully done, but it certainly didn't suit the cheery disposition Andy gave off or Dennis' love for brightness.

Turning the gold doorknob carefully, she placed her head around the door, and saw bedroom that was more luxurious than the one she'd grown up in. She frowned and took a step inside, noticing just how ridiculously large it was for one person. However she did appreciate the wood flooring.

It was an antique sort of a bedroom with a very high ceiling, which she'd quite liked in a room, even if she sometimes preferred the cosiness of an old cottage. Anything new looking had to have been Andy's doing. She couldn't imagine Dennis' family straying toward anything remotely modern before their deaths.

There was a steel white frame, with a pretty white patterned quilt over the mattress. Genevieve's teddy bear, Alfred, who had two left feet, sat against the pillows, face still as always. She was loathe to admit that if it became animated thanks to the new environment and awareness she might have to stuff it into drawer away from her.

The walls were a crisp white that had aged over time, peeling in areas here and there. Genevieve saw it as character.

An eighteenth century dresser sat opposite the bed. It had many old make up brushes and powders most likely filled with lead, and there was also a hairbrush and a few, probably useless perfume bottles that were there for show.

Up on the ceiling was a small light hanging, which needed invigoration as the yellowing light that came from it wouldn't be helpful if she wanted to read or do school work.

Genevieve lay down on the bed. It was probably too big for just her to sleep in, but she never complained about too much space on a bed. The better to be swallowed by pillows and sheets and spread out her limbs.

There was also a hint of lavender coming from her blanket and pillows. It wasn't overpowering but it made her feel peaceful, like she was treating herself the way her mum sometimes did when life got a little difficult.

Time always passed quickly when her parents crept back into her thoughts. Noon became nightfall. Genevieve felt the hollow emptiness accustomed to her grieving thoughts and wondered if eating something would make it better. Her body hadn't responded to food although Dennis' cooking ability was debatable. Sometimes they'd resorted to snacking, takeaway or pot noodles when the home cooked meal of the night was a total cock up the past two weeks.

The anxious feeling in her heart that let it fall to the pit of her stomach took over her priority for food.

How could she eat now?

She was in a new room. A new place of permanence – for however long it took to get this all over and done with – but she had come to the conclusion it would take some years.

She had no family. She was living with strangers. They were lovely and ready to welcome her with open arms, but they were still strangers.

She looked out at the dark night, through her large window. The curtains were a light blue and were easy to pull when her paranoia of being watched got the better of her.

It was only then that she noticed. On her bedside table was a piece of muggle notebook paper with cursive, thankfully legible writing. Picking up the note, she wondered over to the window as she read:

_Dear Genevieve,_

_I know this won't be easy at first, but I promise it will get better with time.__  
__I lost my parents because of this world too. I still miss them everyday._

_I chose this room for you because it is the brightest of them all, making it not so__ominous at night and might make you feel a little less homesick.__  
__You have a good view of the forest and the puddle sized lake of Wiltshire.__  
__If you're patient enough, you can sometimes see the fireflies from this view._

_P.S. if you're wondering where some of the instruments are, I've moved them__down the hall, two doors down to be precise. _

_You'll get a kick out of it once you figure out why I put them there._

_Andy x_

Genevieve was touched that she went to the effort. Especially since she didn't bombard her with this sentimental, empathetic sort of thing back downstairs. Andy knew it would be too raw for her to deal with in person, and she was glad she had someone like that to understand how her grieving worked. Dennis didn't always quite get it.

She was also gladly distracted by the postscript, and far too curious for her own good. Her hunger had been pushed aside as did the anxiety that ebbed and flowed through her vitals.

Heading down the hall and toward the door Andy had indicated in her note, she found the door was just like her own. A gas lamp lit up outside it and she pushed the door open. The room itself had been partly painted, a tall ladder still standing up with a wall painted a subtle yellow, while the other three were wallpapered with dark green and black vine design. Andy had clearly just gotten started, sick of the gloominess the decoration inspired.

Genevieve's instruments stood out in this mostly bare room. The instruments her father begged her to pick up and play.

The window in this room was much larger and the sky was more open to her from this view. It was in the centre of the wall facing the small back garden, forest and pitiful lake – probably more classified a pond.

It looked as though the room had been an office once and a new desk had taken place of the old one, an unpolished brass cauldron sitting on top along with lots of folders…lots of Genevieve's folders…

They were her guitar notes, meticulously ordered and written by her teacher, and her sister's piano notes sat neatly in a folder as well, tucked away on a shelf after a short look around. Bad lyrics were scribbled here and there and full fleshed songs written by her once, driven sister, before being social and tipsy had become a priority over taking new boundaries in her music and honing her skill.

Genevieve noticed the covered piano shaped object in the corner, but grand size. They never had a grand sized one; they'd opted to leave her sister's modest one back home…

Pulling the sheets off in a display of childlike demeanour, Genevieve revealed an incredibly old, and luxurious black grand piano.

Gently pulling up the lid to the keys, she noticed they weren't covered in dust but the keys had aged with colour. She was about to press down on an "A" key, when she began to hear voices all at once.

Genevieve looked around, continuing to hear the voices only to realise they were coming from above her.

On the ceiling was a painting of people in the sky, depicting a heaven like image as they looked down upon her. Soon enough she discovered they looked down on her in many ways.

They were wearing ancient wizards and witches robes, and once again, were animated and talking to her, although as she had suspected, it wasn't kind or welcoming words they had to offer her.

'Cretin! Don't touch that instrument –'

'It was tuned in the fires of hell-'

'You _filthy_ mudblood, what are you doing in this room?'

Genevieve frowned at the word "mudblood". Not simply because it was a horrid slur, but because it was entirely incorrect when she was a muggle. She turned from the piano and crossed her arms definitively.

'Some of my stuff is in here, so I'll be in this room a bit. If you have an issue with that, I can surely consult Dennis and he can _resolve_ this problem?'

The wizards and witches in the painting shut up. Partly because they'd just found out Dennis came back. But there seemed to be something else lingering as a few of them stared at her, utterly befuddled by her existence.

Genevieve frowned and said, 'If you're not careful your faces could freeze and stay that way.'

Some whispered to each other as others carefully looked over her properly again with prompting. The speculation made Genevieve roll her eyes, assuming she was correct in what they were whispering about amongst themselves.

'You act like you've never seen a muggle before. You probably killed enough of them,' Genevieve said in some disgust.

'Only before they could kill us!'

'She does _look_ like her,' said one of the pureblooded angel women louder than the others and taken aback as well as that of the man who so brashly retorted to Genevieve's comment.

'She certainly doesn't sound like her,' spoke a taller wizard, staring down his hooked nose with a monocle at hand to analyse her better. 'By the accent I'd say she grew up in a brothel.'

Genevieve's eyes narrowed as she clearly heard this. She hadn't a clue as to what they were talking about but wasn't going to let that by easy.

'By the looks of you, I'd say your parents were too closely related to have been conceiving in the first place.'

While some looked absolutely insulted by the comment, a few guilty upper class chortles echoed in the air as well, but Genevieve looked none too pleased to hear their satisfaction. She wanted to offend them.

One portly witch with rosy cheeks and strawberry blonde hair settled soon after and decided to explain to the simpleton that she was.

'The look of you was where the speculation began, and while some of us weren't convinced by the uncouth sounds coming from your lips, your wit echoes a long lost companion too. You, girl, you must be a descendant of Eviana Napoleon…'

Genevieve stopped from rolling her eyes, knowing full well about her somewhat demented ancestor. But she was curious. How in the world did they even know of her, let alone these traits that are so similar to her? Unless…

'And what's it to you that I might be a descendant of this deranged woman?' she said as she crossed her arms.

'You insolent little girl, you shouldn't disrespect Eviana Napoleon in such an uncivilised manner!' spoke the taller wizard in a booming voice.

'And why not?' Genevieve interrupted. 'No one in their right mind would consort with you people unless they were being considered for a lobotomy.'

'She had powers that no other could possess!' An olive skinned wizard came forward. 'Her abilities put all those who deceived their own to such shame that she ran so many so called "seers" out of our village that none in our time were to deal with tricksters and frauds ever again. She was a saint for our kind.'

Genevieve snorted derisively. The passionate witches and wizards didn't seem to appreciate this. Before they could return the favour, she decided to add to the argument.

'And yet, I don't see her up there with you lot? Unless she was far worthier of being stuck up on a ceiling for a shoddy group painting, I would guess that her running off with a poor boy is the reason she in fact isn't up there.'

Scowls came up on several of their faces over the progression of her suggestion, and a fair-haired wizard seemed to grow pink from his scalp to his neck. She grimaced in return.

'We didn't say she was perfect,' the strawberry blonde countered after some careful thought.

'So her running off with the poor boy _is_ the reason she was kicked out?'

'No, _she_ left us,' said a wizard with a goatee (and impeccable teeth considering their lack of dental hygiene at the time). 'Gained some sympathies for the muggles and didn't agree with our tradition, heritage or power any longer.'

'It was rather unfortunate that she came to her demise before we could do what the prophecy had foretold,' a pompous voice added.

Genevieve's nostrils flared. Prophecies would be the end of humanity by the standards they set.

'And what was this prophecy exactly?' Genevieve asked. She couldn't believe she was conversing with a group of bigots painted onto her ceiling, but even she couldn't walk away with the fire of her curiosity stoked further.

Some of them seemed to shy away from the subject. However, a few of the wizards stepped forward, and one in particular with a constant snarl on his features and a glowing hatred in his yellowing eyes saw an opportunity, to attempt to amass fear in her very being.

'With your ancestor, we could have resurrected Salazar Slytherin from his crypt renewed and brought about the coming of a new age, an age where witches and wizards needn't be confused about their standing and the muggles would have become the cattle they were always bred to be.'

A silence held the room swiftly. Genevieve stared upon the wizard cautiously. This wizard thought he'd made a significant hit with his remark and his snarl turned into a grizzly smile. Then the frown took over her face before she had a chance to bite her lip inwards to stop from smiling.

'You were planning on raising Salazar Slytherin from the dead?' Genevieve asked condescendingly.

'Yes,' the wizard practically spat in her direction.

'How well did that one pan out without this so called key element of my ancestor?'

'We all died.'

The strawberry blonde witch looked rather disinterested when she said it, like she was too busy brushing off lint from her clothes to be bothered with being as dramatic as the last wizard.

'Sounds like you guys drank the cool-aid.'

'I might not know what she's referring to, but I know she's laughing at us!' the dramatic wizard pointed his index finger down at her menacingly.

'Well yeah,' Genevieve reasoned without haste, 'first you pin this so called prophecy to one person and I'm going to hazard a guess that you probably terribly misinterpreted it – secondly you don't find a way around it without dying in the process – I'd say there were some massive flaws in your plan.'

'We did as it said.'

'There were just some bits missing – prophecies weren't quite so well kept back then,' the peachy witch admitted, 'And after Eviana and her children were killed – we had no choice but to substitute some rather detrimental things-'

'Wait. Killed? How were they killed?'

Genevieve's face was scrunched up and her eyes narrowed on the witch speaking to her most.

There was a lack of forethought within the group if they considered this was wise to mention, as they again seemed to shift uncomfortably amongst each other until the pause was gathering at an awkward pace. An aggravated sigh echoing childishly from the witch told Genevieve that this was no ordinary death to have succumbed to.

'The word spread quickly. Not only was the man she eloped with a muggle but he was poor too! He had no standing in society – she didn't have much to begin with but she was very sought after and was promised – to my brother.'

It didn't take long for Genevieve to connect the dots soon after. She was forcing the eye twitching fit back but found she was struggling.

'So you thought the most just action was to kill her and her kids, well after the fact that she'd married another man after this broken engagement and had children?'

'I wasn't _there_ when it happened!' argued the peachy witch now beginning to sound rather screechy in defence, 'Eviana was my friend – some of us were under the impression that they would be forced to leave to the Continent – for the sake of our reputation when we found out her oldest would be attending Hogwarts soon.'

'We had to do what was necessary Hattie,' said the dramatic wizard retorted rather more sombrely, like the argument had been circling them for hundreds of years and no one would accept the end of it.

'Oh shut up Peridian, you didn't _have to_ battle her or her children. You were just angry that your _possession_ no longer obeyed your every word and whim.'

'Oh my God, I know why you're all up there.'

They took to turning to Genevieve with a manner of distaste once more despite her revelation showing she didn't care what they thought of it.

'Talking to yourself is one of the first signs of madness,' Peridian spoke sharply, 'Eviana did it often – if she had just stayed I would have fixed her.'

Genevieve glared at Peridian after a short glow of coming to the conclusion she had.

His body shrivelled under it. Genevieve had never managed to accomplish so much as a snarky and patronising laugh when she glared at people, which was rare to illicit anyway. Maybe having a similar visage to this ancestor wasn't such a terrible thing after all. She wondered how Andy kept them under control without looking like a past murdered ancestor. A grin that was underlined with a menacing thought appeared upon her mouth.

'Tell me, how often have you encountered the woman who's been living here?'

With the change of subject welcomed by the dramatic wizard most opposed to her existence apparently named Peridian, his snarl returned at the very thought of Andy's presence.

'Whenever she cleans, which isn't often enough frankly speaking.'

Genevieve grinned, 'Does she do something in here that puts you all on edge?'

Before Peridian looked ready to respond, another unseen figure of the painting came from behind him and covered his mouth. His roguish looks in comparison to his companions and his desperation spoke volumes.

'Peridian, be a good boy and shut up _for once_!'

Peridian shoved the man off of him and had his wand at the ready. The man with longer hair and a devilish grin shook his head amused.

'Can't do much with that here, remember?'

'I can damn well try you traitor!'

Genevieve's brow rose at hearing the term directed toward what appeared to be another pureblood wizard in the midst of scheming their next muggle hunt.

'Peridian stop that this instant!' Hattie insisted dramatically, looking ready to faint.

'Who are you?'

They all directed their attention back to the new "unworthy" to heckle when Peridian stopped such an interaction.

'I forbid this discussion from continuing!'

'You're in a painting, deal with it,' Genevieve replied bluntly, 'And I wasn't asking you.' She turned her gaze back to the once hidden wizard. 'I was asking _him_.'

The figure straightened himself out from the near fighting stance and brushed down his robes for good measure. Turning to the girl he was about to offer his hand but withheld when he realised how silly that would look with his two dimensional lifestyle. He smiled handsomely however, and it was as though the awkwardness slipped off of him.

'My name is Corvus Regulus Black, and although I'm not so inclined to muggle ways, I don't so much mind the pretty people they produce.'

'I think you need to clarify that Corvus,' spoke a blonde woman harshly.

Corvus scowled the witch's way and turned back to Genevieve. 'The pretty men if I have to be _so _precise.'

'You're a disgrace to us all!' cried the tall olive skinned wizard just after the truth was uttered.

'You don't deserve to be up here with us!'

'None of you deserve to be up there!' Genevieve argued, a disbelieving smile taking over. 'I think it would be easier just to paint over you, erase the fact that you and your murderous ideology ever existed instead of playing loud instruments just to get you to shut up from your poisonous dithering. Do the whole world a bit of good.'

'Well now you've done it Peridian, you've just cornered us into death's hands, _again_,' said Corvus as he threw his own hands up in the air, landing to his sides gracefully, albeit theatrically.

'Death?' Genevieve quickly asked, her colour leaving from her face.

'Well it's not as though you could ever bring us back if you were to paint over us. We don't have other portraits to run to.'

'I do,' said the blonde witch with an air of superiority.

'Yeah, and it's stuck in someone's dusty attic,' retorted Corvus.

Genevieve took a seat on top of the desk, her head falling into her hands shortly after. After scrunching up her hair in bunches for some time, she screamed quietly with an unknown frustration.

'What imbecile thought it would be clever to put you up there anyway? You don't exactly inspire ingenuity,' said Genevieve embittered. She didn't think she could go through with painting over them, but she could curse out the idiot who thought it magnificent to have these pillocks look down on any of the room's occupants.

'The only one to escape the hellfire of that exploding crypt, the adjoining potion and curse was Cyril Davies. He was our dear friend and always very late,' Hattie said kindly with a reminiscent glint in her eyes. Genevieve wondered how one person always ended up on the outside of these situations. Possibly Cyril ran for the hills the moment he saw the aftermath or figured being stuck around a bunch of idiots near a cauldron with the intention of raising up an old Hogwarts founder was the last straw for his temperament.

'Of course nobody truly trusted him afterwards, not with the implication that he might have caused the failure,' Corvus mentioned slyly.

It certainly soured the image of a normal wizard. Murder, while probably better executed to look like an accident is just a step too far in the Wizarding world.

'So he had us painted up here so that we could serve him counsel when he needed it,' Hattie finished, nostrils flaring through her polite smile after Corvus' suggestive comment wielded no ill-mannered laughter.

'He continued to put up with you after you finally left? I need to get Dennis' head checked if that's the case.'

Hattie now finally looked outraged after contemplating the newest remark. Corvus looked wary.

'You've done a better job teasing her over her sorest subject than I could have somehow.'

'Her death?' asked Genevieve obviously. Corvus shook his head.

'No, Cyril. They were courting for a while.'

Genevieve shrugged nonchalantly at Hattie who up until that moment had been rather open in welcoming her despite all the hostility from the other members of the ceiling painting.

'If I've learned anything about wizards, they're not worth treating like flawless people. I wouldn't be surprised if the major flaw in this family is doing strange things like have your dead companions painted onto the ceiling of a personal office to hang over you for eternity…maybe if I find his portrait I'll get a better explanation for his mentality.'

'I don't think you'll find many of those around here,' Corvus shook his hands, indicating so further. 'His children didn't like him so much, went a little more liberal on discipline after he finally ascended.'

'Well if he had never taken on Fulton's advice on how to punish his children we never would have ended up in this position: dusty and disrespected,' said a witch with very prominent jowls for her age, although her anger was aimed toward a shorter, snivelling looking man, almost resembling Pettigrew but he had a confidence unlike the character Genevieve had read about.

She didn't imagine she'd get much more out of the ceiling painted witches and wizards. For her sake mostly, she decided to ignore what else they might say, holding off on condemning them to the white paint death they needed.

'Is she really going to pretend we're not here?'

'Peridian, do you want us to die?' Corvus reiterated sharply for the last time.

It went quiet after this, only for her to be left with her thoughts, which had been rather relieving for the first time in quite a while.

Genevieve went to look at the desk more, noticing that there were other things to be observed for her use alone. In the drawers she noticed a muggle notebook and sticky note tabs of different colours, shapes and sizes. On the empty subject line it said, "Differences/Changes."

Genevieve frowned until she saw the seven books sitting upright with stone agate bookends. They were in the wrong order chronologically but they were undeniably her books from home that made this prophecy possible. Andy must have prepared for it to be nearby.

Outside the wind howled as the window shook, but with that exception, the scene outside was unperturbed. The snow piled up high in some areas, sloping in others, looked soft and wasn't yet blemished by the unavoidable mud and dust of the region.

It was still a bit foreign, dealing with this new and very real concept of magic and the fact that her summers and winters were now reversed. She was used to the fact that Dennis would pull out his wand and mutter some words and something would happen like a minor explosion and everything around it could be fixed in the matter of seconds, and that pictures could talk, but it was still all unbelievable. She thought at the start it was some very sick joke. But it really wasn't. It _was_ real, all of it.

Genevieve took herself out of her own thoughts and went to discover a bit more of her own room when she saw the more hostile witches and wizards on her ceiling brewing with curses but fearing to let them go in an unattainable burst. And _she_ was the uncouth creature of the room.

The few dark hallways of Davies Manor made her walk that bit faster and Genevieve had a feeling that it would take her nearly ten years to get used to the eeriness as Andy had. The silver lining was that all this darkness offered the mystery that had very often been themed through the books she read about this world. Hogwarts had many hidden rooms, nooks, even exits out of the castle. The exciting and highly distracting pondering led her to believe it might be possible in rooms of this Manor.

In her room she pushed into several sections of wall only to find that nothing came of it. Except for a section she'd missed behind a floor length oval mirror with golden talons for feet.

Putting her weight against the wall, it pushed in and eventually moved of it's own accord aside.

With the few candles lighting the way, she'd found a small storage area and a tiny bathroom, suitable for one person. It was just as immaculate as she had expected as it surfaces practically glimmered with magnificence, from the basin to the bath, all of which looked rather old school since it's creation. It was surely beautiful, but-

'Gaudy.'

It was the only thing she could think for it. Like it needed toning down or she'd have a headache being inside it for too long.

She ran a bath, which filled up with soap and smells beyond comprehension as the water nearly reached the brim. It was extraordinary, but then again, it was probably the magic in the atmosphere that caused that. After all she'd never felt more ordinary than when she'd walked through this house.

The scents finally settled. It smelt like the Royal Botanical Gardens and the steam brought out the colours in the bath salts as it permeated the bubbles and into the atmosphere.

Nothing in Davies Manor or in this world would be normal, ever. It refused to be subtle.

Genevieve stayed in that bath for some time and twice she had to hold back tears after simply contemplating her past, present and her now unforeseeable future.

When she had finished her bath, she looked around the room with more concentration. The colours of the bathroom were of the ocean sea. Many blues and greens mixed in together, and there were beautiful mermaids all around, floating along the walls. Genevieve grabbed a blue towel from a neat pile next to the bath and wrapped it around her.

The natural tan from sitting in the sun back home while reading all day was beginning to fade. If she knew anything about her heritage, she'd be as pale as a vampire within the next few weeks.

She slid the door on the other side of the bathroom, revealing the walk in wardrobe. Rummaging through almost every drawer, she found a dark blue, long-sleeve top and a matching, dark blue, pair of pyjama trousers.

Tying up her half dry hair into a messy bun, she went out of the wardrobe and back into the bathroom. Opening up the modern cupboards underneath the sink to see if any of the acne products from home had made it, she heard many voices simultaneously, throwing her off balance completely.

Genevieve kept her distance once back on her feet, and though she was wary, she got on her knees, realising that no one had come into the bathroom nor could they fit in a bathroom cupboard.

Finally opening it fully, she found herself looking at different sized bottles; tubs of face and hair care potions and modern make-up.

So who the hell had been talking?

Her question was answered as lips formed on the bottles.

Here eyes widened. Slowly crawling backwards, her eyes not reverting anywhere else, they started speaking to her at once.

'Oh my, we have a lot of work to do, look at those spots-'

'And those blemishes!'

'And that hideous scar!'

'So many imperfections that must be perfected!'

They started jumping up and down, their voices becoming shriller with desperation to help clear her normal imperfect teenage face. Genevieve was too stunned to move anywhere. Nothing they said to her had hurt her completely. She was used to covering up her flaws with make up, but since that night hadn't bothered, seeing as no one else had seen her day to day, except Dennis, and now Andy.

But the scar wasn't because of hormonal issues.

Frustrated and disturbed by the presence of sentience in these magical beauty products from a past long gone, she slammed the cupboard doors.

'We were only _trying_ to help!' she heard the muffled voices scream from behind the cupboard doors. She became annoyed at this and included everything else in her room that she really didn't appreciate.

'Why does _everything_ here have to have a mind of its own!' she screamed to herself. Slamming the bathroom door with such force the bottles small screams of terror could be heard all the way to her new bed. Genevieve fell down onto her bed with a groan and various other unpleasant angry tones following it.

However, the softest humming sound made her lift her head up, catching her attention.

She slumped off the other side of the bed and over to the window. She looked out to a forest with its greenery coming through, seeing many trees and a small lake that went through the forest as a river, with a small decking for sun-chairs and towels.

As she looked out further to the forest, only just making out these tiny bulbs of light floating through.

Fireflies.

She'd heard so much but had never seen anything quite like it. The constant little warm yellow flashes lit the forest up. And strangely, if the world was quiet enough for a moment, she could hear a strangely in tune humming.

She hadn't realised she was staring out the window in total darkness.

The light switched on behind her.

Andy was standing in the doorway with a plate and a drink of squash.

'I just thought I'd bring up some finger sandwiches. Dennis told me your appetite has been quite inconsistent so I thought this would be the safest option.'

Genevieve smiled gratefully and Andy saw that she'd been staring out the window.

'You're lucky, they don't always tread this close to the edge of the forest.' Genevieve turned back around to look out the window momentarily before glancing back at Andy.

'I've never seen anything quite like it,' Genevieve admitted. She'd seen many wondrous things over the past month, but nothing so untouched and peaceful as such.

Andy smiled warmly and said, 'Nature. It's a magic unlike anything else.'

Andy left her be after she sat the plate of piled up sandwiches and her glass onto the dresser. After picking at her food for a few moments, and thoroughly enjoying the egg and cress combination, she resigned that today was mostly a strange one. She'd done nothing productive and felt terrible.

Falling back onto her bed, she looked over at the time on the grandfather clock, which read eight o'clock. Time had really flown past quite quickly.

Genevieve fell asleep shortly afterwards, with her eyes welled up with tears refusing to fall, not noticing Petra jumping up on the bed to sleep with her as well as a black cat known as Noir…


	7. Revelation

_Author's Note:_

_Playlist Suggestions:_

'_Whisper of a Thrill', The City of Prague Philharmonic Orchestra &amp; James Fitzpatrick (theme from Meet Joe Black).  
_'_Fawkes the Phoenix,_' _CoS Soundtrack (No. 2)._

_J.K. Rowling owns this universe. _

* * *

Book One

_Chapter Six_

_Revelation_

A week after the arrival at Davies Manor, Genevieve felt that she was finally comfortable in her new room.

Well, at least it had been the first morning she'd awoken not completely confused by her surroundings to the point of a near anxiety attack.

Petra and Dennis, in his cat form Noir, had been sleeping on her bed almost every night. Petra had done so occasionally in her last home, but Dennis' excuse was that he was protecting her at night, as he did bring his wand with him every time, tucked under his furry black body. While she understood, she felt he was compensating for his mistakes more than anything.

Dennis still hadn't quite got rid of the cat like habits. While some of them had been amusing, it stopped being so when she caught him subconsciously licking his hand, and wiping his hair with it. It had been an awkward moment for the both of them.

Whenever he was around Andy he would always try to stop himself from doing something remotely feline.

And the tension was palpable. Genevieve didn't understand why they hadn't just said what they obviously needed to say.

They were best friends at Hogwarts as well as afterwards, but apparently hadn't ever gone out, according to Andy when she suggested such an intimate past with her over tea.

_Something_ had to have happened between them that made it really difficult for them. It was the only explanation she could think of.

Having a quick shower and getting changed into the clothes that were on her now made bed; the two protective cats were gone. Dennis was likely back in human form and Petra probably in the library where she discovered isolated, dark hiding places where she liked to play with the escaping rats and such small annoyances. Petra had taken to the manor so well. It took cats a while to get used to new places, and because the ginger cat was kept in so she couldn't run away, she found many fun places to nullify her uneasiness in the new environment and its suddenly chilly climate.

Genevieve's muggle hairdryer was one thing she insisted on keeping regardless of their not being any electrical outlets for her to plug into in the traditional wizard home. Dennis had to find a way for her to use it without his presence because she didn't want to keep coming to her guardian and his friend whenever she wet her hair. He'd clearly enjoyed the ingenuity exercise on his magic and Genevieve benefitted from it now, despite it maybe being a little too strong.

Opening up her cupboard and ignoring the bottles that all shouted at her at once, she grabbed the bottle that didn't talk and slammed the doors closed to shut them all up. Andy told her that bottles were the hardest objects (other than most of paintings) to throw out as they were bound by magic by their last owner Dorothea, a witch who needed constant reminders of her sheer beauty, hence their magical need to be vocal.

They became less intense when Genevieve's hormonal skin began to clear as a result of magical intervention (either going to the extreme with causing acne or clearing it up. Thankfully she'd had the latter). The bottles now only pointed out the unfixable: scars.

Due to lack of friends and not much to do before settling into muggle homeschooling, Genevieve studied her books in the room set up for her, both academic magical history books and the leisurely ones that seemed more important to memorise ironically. The painted group above mostly remained silent in her small prophecy inflicted endeavours, but occasionally she'd hear a tittering that would force her to look up and either silence them with a glare or be forced into a conversation with them. Of all of them, Corvus seemed to be the only one she liked. Heavens knew why, but even after all the pureblood nonsense; he remained endearing and different to the others. Possibly due to the draw toward his own sex– or the pretty ones anyway, exiling him. He had only wished a muscular young man he had explored this side of nature with had been beside him but he supposed he was fortunate to be up there at all with the past's misgivings toward him (evident by how many of his companions treated him regardless of his charming disposition).

When hunger finally took over her priorities that day, Genevieve was rushing out through the hall, down the stairs and turning a corner into the corridor to the kitchen. She stopped herself from banging into the door, just that much and was glad she had. She could hear two quiet voices, just loud enough for someone to eavesdrop.

'_I just feel like I'm intruding on you two, besides I was only meant to keep the house in living condition until you got back. I didn't realise it would be so long but I'm still glad I did._'

A tinkling deep chuckle was heard and Genevieve quirked her brow. She had never imagined a variety of laughter to be quite so flirty.

'_Andy, you've done more for me than I could ask for, and you don't have to stay. I would like you to, but I can't force you to-_'

'_You really want me to stay?_' Andy's voice came through again, hopeful.

'_Of course Andy, you're my best friend…besides, it's so safe it's like a bunker here and you've got a much better way of being with Genevieve than I ever could. She likes you,_' said Dennis honestly.

Genevieve didn't know whether to feel bad for the bugger or not. Andy had connected with her on a certain level, and Dennis was kind of acting like the idiot older brother around her half the time, sometimes saying the wrong thing or going the wrong way with handling her altogether.

'_You need to give her time Dennis…she's lost all she's ever known and in return received two inexperienced thirty year olds and a one way trip to a country with a pretty awful climate temperament. She'll come to eventually, it's just a lot to ask of her on top of what's expected of her._'

'_So you'll stay? You know to help me with Genevieve…all of the guardian responsibilities that I'm terrible at?_' he asked tentatively.

Genevieve rolled her eyes. She couldn't believe she was being used as a scapegoat for his affections.

'_Of course Dennis…it seems like you need all the help you can get._'

Genevieve didn't know whether she or Dennis should be offended by the well-meaning response. Surely she hadn't been so much work in the past week since she arrived? Then again Dennis was baffled by how he sometimes messed up and became something of a Neville Longbottom hybrid afterward.

Genevieve shook herself from her thoughts when her stomach rumbled and forced her to knock on the door hastily to save herself from being caught.

'_Come – come in_!' she heard Andy's voice call a little uncomfortably. Genevieve could just picture them staring at each other before coming to their senses again.

In the kitchen, Andy was now hurriedly cooking at the stove, a blush creeping up her neck. Genevieve could smell bacon, eggs, sausages and hash browns, a typical weekend breakfast fare, from where she was walking toward the informal table set up for the previous help in the manor.

They were slid onto three plates while three glasses were being filled with juice from a floating bottle, orange juice ready at Genevieve's place. She hadn't quite enjoyed her first glass of pumpkin juice and swore off the stuff since.

Genevieve sat down next to the head of the house's chair, i.e. Dennis's, as he was the reluctant owner, while Andy sat across from her. They both looked stiff and quite unsure. They were avoiding the usual topics, which Genevieve felt relief from as she quietly ate breakfast but knew was more worrying then when they concentrated on the constant planning they had for her Reader duties. When she caught Dennis stopping himself from saying something as he shoved his last pile of toast and egg into his mouth, she knew something was definitely up and that it would probably best to get it out sooner rather than later.

'Is there anything you'd like to tell me?' Genevieve asked, finally cluing in. The two "adults" looked at each other briefly before, Andy specifically urging him with wider eyes and Dennis giving in.

'Genevieve, there's something about you in particular that you may not know or figured out yet,' said Dennis slowly.

Genevieve frowned, not expecting this nervous, fretful announcement, more so a grateful gesture that Andy was in fact going to continue living with them and within his constant gooey-eyed vicinity. She began to look wary as far too many scenarios played out in her head, and all of them were bad.

'You see, we received a letter last night about you from Professor Dumbledore. He's pretty positive about it too,' Andy added.

'_Dumbledore_ sent you a letter about me?' asked Genevieve. As much as she had anticipated meeting Dumbledore she realised there were more pressing things to contemplate. There were new revelations and they were about her. She wasn't sure if this was meant to be good news yet.

'Never mind that,' she dismissed suddenly, 'what is it that he's _pretty positive_ about?' Genevieve asked suspiciously.

'Do you remember when you were about nine, you baked a chocolate cake for the new neighbours next door, specifically because you fancied their son?'

Genevieve grimaced at the memory. It hadn't been a very pleasant experience.

'It wasn't very _cake_ like. Do you remember how the parents were nice about it, but their son blurted out his personal feelings on your...baked good?'

'Yes, he was a little too honest,' she began indignantly.

'And do you remember what happened to that cake?'

'I think I dropped it and turned around, far too upset and embarrassed,' shrugging absentmindedly. Seeing the turning expressions of Dennis and Andy she sat back up in her seat.

'Why?' she asked curiously. Dennis couldn't conceal the smile as his memory momentarily overtook his priority.

'Genevieve, it blew up in his face.'

She couldn't recall this ever happening but realised she couldn't even look in that direction for months after what happened let alone face them to watch a cake explode in a key moment of torment from her childhood.

'Literally?' she asked dumbfounded.

Andy and Dennis nodded. 'I heard your parents talking about how the parents of the boy couldn't stop laughing,' said Dennis taking a bite out of his bacon. 'They didn't want to tell you because you were quite sensitive back then and the slightest mishap made you cry at the drop of a hat.'

The frown on her face from that news was evident that she thought it wasn't reason enough to keep such a story from her. The other two stopped eating when they noticed she wasn't remotely happy.

'Okay, so what about it then?' Genevieve asked sceptically.

'Genevieve think about it. Cakes just don't blow up of their own accord. It's a sign,' Andy said cautiously.

Genevieve understood what she was on about. Remembering Harry's childhood life, he had done weird things when he was angry, scared, or just wanted things back to the way they were, hence the regrowing hair and ending up on school roofs to avoid Dudley and his bully friends. She began shaking her head in disbelief. This had never felt the same because the magnitude between her and Harry had been so much larger and her incidents were far less feats than slight unfortunate mishaps.

'If you're telling me I'm a witch because of one incident…'

Dennis and Andy looked at each other worried. They thought that she would lash out at them for not telling her this fact a few weeks ago or when she arrived at the Manor. That didn't happen, she only asked for more proof.

'The beach, you were six years old, and a bee had stung you,' Dennis profiled perfectly.

'But _I_ didn't make it better, Evangeline did...wait Evangeline?' Genevieve asked unbelievably.

'She's a witch as well…we think,' Andy said uncertainly.

Genevieve's eyes were large. It was all too much information for her. Sure it had been a harebrained dream from her muggle life, but it wasn't necessarily true now given what she learned. After almost fourteen years only now she finds out she's a witch?

'Why didn't you tell me about this when we were back at home?' Genevieve asked Dennis in particular, her eyes betraying her emotions the moment they landed on him.

Dennis shrugged honestly before replying, 'I didn't know if these few incidences you had were just miracles, or you and your sister were what you were. I couldn't confirm it until I'd received word back from Dumbledore.'

She slumped in her seat, a myriad of thoughts still wreaking havoc in her already _enlightened_ mind.

'That's why they called me mudblood…' Genevieve said to herself more than the two others sitting at the table.

She excused herself immediately, chair scraping against the wood floor of the old kitchen as she went to talk to the people in her ceiling painting. Genevieve rushed upstairs to the concern of Dennis and Andy as they followed further behind.

She swung the door open to the room a little harder than usual as it swung back closed and immediately looked up to the ceiling, straight at the worried painted people by her commotion, and soon in particular to Corvus, the only one who spoke to her aside from Hattie with some sort of kindness.

'How did you know?' she questioned unbelievably, 'How did you know I was like you?'

Corvus smiled knowingly. 'The moment we felt your anger it was clear. One of Eviana's descendants doesn't just turn up in the Wizarding World after all this time without something in their fingertips, even with such disguises,' he gestured to the muggle attire.

He was perceptive.

'Yes, but at what cost?' she said, a fury stagnant for some time since their deaths. The tears that were welling made Genevieve frustrated.

Genevieve was sick of crying. She was just angry now. They dried the moment she made that clear to herself. It was unnerving what a theorised ability in her and her stubbornness in facing tears had thrust in her.

Corvus ignored the others muttering amongst themselves. His eyes showed a softness likened to sympathy, something she had never seen before on the roguish features of the Black ancestor and it took her aback.

'So much has happened in your short life child, but your parents didn't perish for your true heritage to be realised. They died protecting you, so that you may live into the old age they sacrificed themselves, as many mothers and fathers would for their young, magic or muggle.'

Dennis had overheard this exchange and turned to Andy after they quick-marched behind her in her sudden retreat; uncertain as to why she hadn't run to her room to possibly erupt from this new information.

'I think I need to talk to her,' Dennis said with a grief tone.

'I'll make a pot of tea…good luck,' she said quietly encouraging to him, which he smiled gratefully in response.

Genevieve was standing in the middle of the study set up for her Reader duties, looking up at the ceiling as Dennis opened the door. She turned to see him and wiped the stray tear as it fell without her desire to, her hand balling into a fist.

Dennis chose rather wisely not to comment on this and leaned against the desk opposite her, offering her a place beside him.

She eventually took it, but chose not to look at him as he spoke.

'I know you wonder why it was you who was chosen for this particular responsibility, just as I once did. But I'm now of the understanding that fate chose you for _many_ reasons.'

Genevieve dared to look at him as he silently offered her guidance. All she needed to know was why, and to her impression, he needed to make his point.

'You and Evangeline had a gifted ancestor, as they may have told you,' Dennis continued looking up at the ceiling at the lot of them, his own displeasure at their existence far more muted than her disdain.

'She was a pureblood, and when she married a muggle, things for that family changed. There was a new line, and not of the magic kind either, but it was still connected to that line.'

'How do you mean?'

Dennis looked conflicted as he thought of a way to explain and said, 'Well, all of your father's line of ancestors coming from his maternal side were squibs. They were up until you and Evangeline anyway.'

'But you said anyone connected to the Wizarding World wouldn't be able to read the books, so how come Evangeline and I still can?'

'You two passed as muggles when you were born, remember? After seven generations, they simply stop labelling them as "squib" and just think the inevitable: an infant without magic, or any possibility to pass on any magic to future offspring. The last true witch in your bloodline would have been Eviana.'

'She _had _magical children,' corrected the younger girl. 'They went and murdered them out of spite,' her anger reverted up toward the ceiling. But her attention was soon brought back to her Guardian.

'And the child that did escape the attack was the only one born without magical capability,' replied Dennis softly. His body seemed to sag as his eyes went toward the ceiling as well. 'They had forgotten the infant child that had been strapped and swaddled to her unconventional muggle father's torso when he went to work tailoring. It's where your specific line comes from.'

Genevieve folded her arms as she sat up on the desk entirely. After a few passing thoughts and lingering curiosity of the fortunate sibling of the Napoleon children killed in their home along with their mother, a nit picky feeling of scrutiny fell into her mind.

'You get checked when you're born?' asked Genevieve quietly.

Dennis sat up more seeming all but glad to hear voices again, ones that didn't steer so close to the hanging grief that was yet to leave them.

'You're determined through a bunch of variables such as your bloodline which will only go as far back as seven generations and if you show any strong sparks if you have no past bloodline. It's very rarely wrong, and until Evangeline was born, I would never have doubted that system. They only changed it recently once it was discovered that the prophecy points out the mistake and they found the two young girls that the Unspeakable tasked pinned it down to. When the prophecy was made, you two were perfect, because you were yet to be known, hidden away with no magical prospects supposedly. It may have been a mistake to them, but it was what fate wanted to happen in order for the prophecy to work.'

'It's all a bit complicated, isn't it?' Genevieve asked rhetorically.

'Prophecies don't tend to choose the easy solution,' Dennis countered.

Genevieve could only think that it still wasn't enough. What came with entering the wondrous magical world was the destruction that tore through all that she held dear. Genevieve wished she hadn't taken that all for granted. And she wished there was a better reason for being chosen than that of a technicality. Genevieve was beginning to doubt how good her book trivia was when she'd seen enough people in the online world to trump her ability that it was truly daunting to think she was the one placed with this prophecy.

As long as she knew almost everything she thought she needed to know to get through with the next few years, she could maybe get through this all in one piece.

It was however contemplating how to take all of this that it finally clicked in Genevieve. She couldn't continue to be uselessly sad. Her parents would have wanted her to be resilient; it was what they lived by even in times of life when it seemed things only got worse.

It was becoming clear that in order to get things finished for good, she would need to move on. It was a harsh revelation, and one she didn't think should have been necessary for her age, especially this fresh from their deaths.

It was the last day she could allow herself to be the muggle girl who had lost her family.

Moving off the desk more suddenly than she had anticipated. Genevieve moved into her room as Dennis got up and immediately followed her there, the determination clearly concerning to him.

She started taking things that painfully reminded her of what she lost, cherished trinkets and items, gathering every photo, but one, into her hands. There was too much stuff that made her feel sore inside, something always springing up old memories that would make her retract again. Slowly a pile was building and Dennis watched on curiously.

'What are you doing?' he asked her looking at the toppling pile she was hiding behind.

'I need to get rid of the things that make me like this. I can't be around this stuff again until I know I've gotten used to them being gone.'

Dennis got up and moved over to this pile to help. He took half the pile, walking out of the room. When Genevieve was out with her huge mountain of photos and trinkets, Andy was standing outside, with the pot of tea and a two cups as she promised and a look of query. Dennis looked at her, a bit too long, but then answered by nodding toward Genevieve.

'I need this all somewhere I can't see them. Can you help, please?' Genevieve asked sheepishly.

She smiled gently at them, turned to Dennis and said, 'I think being a cat and living around muggles for nearly a decade has eaten away your common sense,' taking out her own wand. With a flick, it floated out of Genevieve and Dennis's hands. Dennis took out his own wand and helped her along the way.

Genevieve was held back so that she didn't know where the photos would be. When she was finished with all this prophecy stuff, she would find them and look at them again. Genevieve hugged herself and closed her eyes and breathed slowly.

If she was going to get through this, she had to be fairly focused and to be focused she had to stop grieving. She was going to have to begin planning.

Deep down there was the girl who wished to see two people in a prison cell with nothing but suffering while succumbing to a painful death at the hands of fate; a fate that already dealt her too many bad cards for someone who had tried to be a decent human being and who knew her parents had instilled that within her.

Genevieve swallowed that all away and sought out happiness, or something akin to it.

To get her mind off of her past and onto her future, Dennis planned for a trip to Diagon Alley when they were eating dinner: to get all the books from years one to three of magical education required by Hogwarts teaching, as she was quite eager to catch up to her age group, since she should've been entering her fourth after the coming summer. Dennis didn't like the goal really, but went along with it because she seemed to be adamant which meant she was committed and that's what he needed her to be more than anything if they were going to get through this.

This was going to take a lot of work as she understood well enough, and a lot more reading was required than she had desired. But she wasn't going to head into this unforgiving world unprepared. Not with her wish to condemn those who had torn through her life.

For tomorrow was Day One for the Reader, and the very thought bubbled a new sort of determination unknown to the once peaceful and unscathed girl.


	8. Diagon Alley

_Author's Note:_

_J.K. Rowling owns this universe. Enjoy. _

_Playlist Suggestions:  
_'_A Postcard to Henry Purcell,' Pride and Prejudice 2005 Soundtrack.  
_'_Diagon Alley and Gringotts Vault', (No. 5) PS/SS Soundtrack._

* * *

Book One

_Chapter Seven_

_Diagon Alley_

When Genevieve awoke blearily, she felt downtrodden but not deathly anxious. Things had progressed very quickly for her new life and as she remembered the plans for the day ahead, she sat up in her bed and considered the possibilities. How accurate would everything be? Was it going to be an underwhelming experience built up from years of imagination or would it be everything the previously untainted child had hoped for? Was she throwing herself in too quickly even if she vowed to not think of the muggle life she once lived until all was done and good?

Now that she knew the truth of her power, it made her feel closer to being whole, it made her feel capable of the things she never imagined she could do with the endangerment this prophecy threatened. She could protect herself better. Genevieve could actually _do_ something.

Despite her recent news, it was not enough to let her thoughts stray to her parents on occasion, as she got ready, as she planned on buying school books and equipment. All things she would have done with her mother under better circumstances.

But as was reminded from the back of her mind, _bury it down – it will do you no good here_. She let the envisioned compartment in her mind put them under lock and key, to be unleashed again when she was most vulnerable. For now she had to live by a mantra.

Keep resilient. Keep on track. Keep on duty.

Genevieve came down the staircase after she was dressed and ready. Because she knew the manor so well after going around it so many times, had taken a secret shortcut she had tripped upon whilst exploring her new home. Entering the kitchen through the swinging door, she walked over to the small table once used by the staff of the Davies home, the now non existent house elves crushed by their own deceased master's stupidity.

Andy and Dennis were serving breakfast for themselves, only for Genevieve to receive a plate ready set up for her. Everything was being handed to her on a plate lately, and she wondered when Andy would finally concede to the thought that while still possibly undergoing some issues, Genevieve was capable of some housework. She'd been doing so for nearly five years already. Dennis seemed just as adamant not to let Genevieve get down to hard housework, due to the extensive size of the manor compared to her last home, therefore being more of a pain to contribute to and also, magic made things much quicker and if she was correct, she may not get away with spell casting any time soon with the tracker stuck to her until she was of age, but she figured with two in the house already, one bout or two from her own would hardly raise any eyebrows at the ministry if they couldn't tell who it was from.

She was getting her own wand. Casting her own magic. Wielding magic from her very being. As she looked down at her own ordinary hands she didn't feel anything remarkable but supposed it was not going to start sparking up now that Dennis was confident it was the case.

It was truly something to marvel at, the silver lining amidst the chaos.

Something to distract her until the very concept of her own wielded magic was marred by the burden of a prophecy.

When they were finished, Dennis used a lazy spell to clean both sets of teeth. Genevieve felt the weird clean minty water rush all around her mouth taking away all signs of left behind morsels of food and furry textured teeth, making it disappear and feeling minty fresh.

Dennis could tell what she was feeling and shot her a lopsided grin. 'You'll get used to the lazy spells soon enough.'

Genevieve gave him a small smile back. It was hard to wait any longer than she already had.

Andy had been called into work (missing out on the shopping trip) and the manner in which she said goodbye had become awkward immediately. She simply spoke it to Genevieve, not sure of the boundaries set between them as yet and Genevieve was relieved she hadn't tried yet but was sure it would be different for the two best friends.

Nope, just as awkward and uncomfortable. The attempt at a warm hug had been good but Dennis had been so shocked since it had been their first since they had arrived, that he spilt his coffee down his front. Both were profusely apologetic, and it made for an extended period of suffering for Genevieve who couldn't quite handle the second hand embarrassment.

It had been a hassle for the two and one Genevieve certainly couldn't understand, as she frowned upon the now cleaned up Dennis after Andy had left for work.

'What?' asked Dennis uncomfortably.

'Jesus Christ, I thought you were nearly thirty.'

Dennis pursed his lips in a fashion not unlike a disapproving grandmother.

'I am thirty.'

'You don't act like it,' she smirked. She pulled herself from the table and finished her juice. 'And you certainly don't act like friends who have known each other since they were eleven. More like two people with a secret.'

Dennis didn't look any more pleased than he was before, his eyes following her as she left the room. When her scrutinising figure disappeared behind the swinging kitchen door, his shoulders slumped with ease, the ghost of a sigh leaving him as well.

Genevieve looked back to see the front of the manor once she walked out of the front doors, midnight blue cloak on and all and waiting for her Guardian. The manor was architecturally pleasing in most time periods and not as gaudy as some of the interior had become from redecorating last century. Probably their worst idea was to redecorate during the century that changed style every bloody decade.

There was a lane going to the gate at the end of the estate, and on both sides of the lane, were humongous, neatly trimmed trees. It was the coldest February she'd ever experienced and she managed to wrap her cloak around her that bit more from the chill, glad for soft inner lining commissioned by the Guardian she was waiting for. He had finally appeared from the open doorway and she waited until they met in front of the manor.

They walked along to the out-of-estate apparition line. It was invisible to most but Dennis and Andy just knew that the third last tree was the line to cross just inside the gate to the boastful land that the Davies' owned. It was a security measure along with the supposedly ruin like appearance of the manor past the apparition line to ward off the more curious folk of the area. Dennis was looking a lot more curt than usual on their brisk walk and Genevieve had slowly figured it had to do something with her previous teasing of the adult.

'You know, when you love someone for over a decade Dennis, it becomes pretty obvious to others,' Genevieve said in thought.

Dennis' face was still stiff looking but the blush creeping up his neck and the evident tinge to his cheeks couldn't be withheld or missed by Genevieve who was calmer than him regardless of if the experience was good teasing bait.

'I've no idea what you're on about Genevieve.'

Genevieve had another smirk playing across her lips. His reactions were betraying the underlying nervousness. 'I mean to say I'm surprised that you haven't admitted it to yourself yet. It's only been a bloody decade.'

'I still don't understand what you're trying to imply,' said Dennis firmly, trying to keep his cool.

Genevieve turned to Dennis and stopped him in his tracks. Her brow was risen to its peak and she crossed her arms. He only stared defiantly in return. She huffed in frustration after a period of time passed and smiled. 'You're in love with her Dennis. There. I've said it for you.'

Dennis displayed some symptoms that worried her, like he was either shutting down or in some serious denial before Genevieve rolled her eyes and continued.

'You look at her like there is no other woman in the world that could _compare_, and I've caught you staring at other…_ehem_, aspects of her figure than I'd care to admit.'

'Genevieve!' the higher pitched tone of scandal reverberated some and he piped down once he heard it too.

'I live with you two; you think I don't observe things?'

Dennis looked down, slightly ashamed of himself. Of course he knew he loved Andy, but he hadn't made his admission out loud in years.

'You're right.'

There was some slight satisfaction from finally getting some admission as he continued walking onward and she caught up, but it didn't last long when the forlorn look in his eyes took over any sense of stiffness he had toward the subject. The frown returned.

'What's stopping you from going after her now?'

Dennis smiled sadly to himself as the sigh let go harshly from his heart.

'I have many reasons why I can't.'

'Dennis, you're going have to tell me _why_ you don't think you should be with Andy,' Genevieve said stopping again before refusing to walk near the line, a mere metre away. She tilted her head impatiently.

Dennis took in a deep breath and said, 'I tried to once and it just led to utter disaster.'

'Disaster?' Genevieve asked quietly.

Dennis nodded solemnly, 'I just figured, why shouldn't I just give it a shot? You-Know-Who was only getting stronger and I wanted to be able to protect her and be there for her. People were dying left, right, and centre, my family, hers. I just wanted to make sure she knew I would be there for her until the very end. I figured some love declaration would fit in eventually when I wanted to proclaim my life for her in order to protect her in the most dramatic teenage way I could. And then I'd gone and done it.'

The quiet took over and Dennis looked almost as bad as he had the night they first properly met.

'It was unusually still in her building. There was always life happening there, it was why I was so drawn being over at hers than being at mine after my family had off and killed themselves while trying to evade the Aurors. There was _always_ a baby crying a floor up which we soon figured out was twins and they would take shifts to keep their parents up as well as the rest of the building. A couple two doors over arguing in Turkish on her floor but were never anything more worrisome than a nagging wife and a submissive husband. The others who I happened to come across always stared because I hadn't quite got the hang of muggle fashion until Andy would fix me up…I was right to be worried when it was quiet. Her door was ajar and when I walked in the window with the view of the dark street was open. It was never open, even on hot days, Andy never left it open because of the chance wasps could come in was too big a fear over getting fresh air into her apartment. I found her on the floor, beaten, bleeding and cursed near to death. The way they treated muggleborn members of the Order because Death Eaters magic was not worth wasting. And I'd led them to her.'

The dropping sense of alarm had her look up at him with larger eyes than she had intended. Dennis himself started to look pale, his breathing was heavy.

'Unintentionally. They were always finding new ways to track us, and while the Order did a great deal to keep up, occasionally we messed up. I messed up. I only got her to St. Mungo's before it was too late thank Merlin above. But it's something I could never forgive myself for…'

The echoes of winter's nature and the gravel underfoot surrounded them now, because the silence between them made it so. Genevieve was so uncertain of what to do or so, she felt helpless. She had expected a bumbling excuse of possible rejection or because was English and therefore naturally subdued to pursue certain fancies.

And if that's how he felt about Andy then she could only imagine what the death of her parents had done to him.

It certainly explained his sleeping on Genevieve's bed in his animagus form.

'After she almost died she was engaged within six months…'

Genevieve's mouth hung open for a moment before she tried to casually regain herself.

'She got engaged?'

Dennis nodded. 'I was devastated but she was happy. Met him in the hospital when she was recovering. Jonathon was a volunteer at St. Mungo's and he was a good man.'

'So,' Genevieve pushed carefully, 'they're no longer together I take it?'

Dennis shook his head. 'It's a shame too. He was good for her. Jonathon wanted to go further East to help doctors in their own ongoing magical war which ended before ours did. Andy wouldn't go. She refused to go when she had her own job here and well, her priority must have been the Order because I figured it would have been far safer for her to be elsewhere than Britain.'

_Or the reason she stayed was you. And then you left her too._

Genevieve shook her head decided that the only way to end this conversation from getting slowly more obvious with her own theories possibly making things worse was to go past the protection line to apparate safely and use a different approach entirely.

'Think of it this way Dennis. That's all in the past. It's been ten years. She lives with us. She is protected and clearly holds some thought for you if she wants to stay.'

'That doesn't mean she loves me that way,' Dennis said slightly bitter.

'Dennis the moment you laid eyes on each other it was like the rest of the world didn't exist. If that hadn't been a defining moment to you, then surely what we've experienced since we arrived and until breakfast this morning,' the damned blush had returned despite his best efforts, 'it's obvious that Andy loves you. Those shy glances, the accidental hand grazes, all the fucking blushing-'

'Language,' he warned only to receive an unapologetic eye roll from Genevieve and for her to continue.

'Life is fleeting Dennis. I know that all too well now. Don't waste this opportunity.'

The natural colour in his face came back. After the conversation they had, Genevieve took his hand and pulled him toward the line, only for him to then pull her a little further. She hadn't quite expected to feel her gut to be sucked in only to flit through what felt like space and time.

* * *

They arrived in a dodgy looking alleyway not far from Saint Pancras. The graffiti wasn't the work of art that warranted a special plaque and it stank of booze and cooking oil of the pub next door.

They walked out of the alley and onto Euston Road, during one of its peak hours and the odd tourist flitted the place for the last winter month for a cheap trip. They had been walking for some time and it wasn't until she could turn down another alley that they felt like they were surrounded by the magical world again.

The strange bloke dressed up in more Wizarding wear than a muggle would care to brush off stood nearby waiting for someone outside a dilapidated looking establishment and the smell of burning incense that always made her head dizzy reminded her of the hippy shops one came across occasionally among the useful vendors and services on a street. The couple of businesses nearby had been shut down noticeably, a massage parlour with Mandarin translation on the signage and a small convenience store, wondering what may have occurred for them to be shut down. Wondering if they'd been scared off by the weird presence or the fact that hardly anyone came down this off street unless they had to. The fact that it sometimes looked as though they were a cult or practicing dark magic was enough to put any muggle off being anywhere near this street. Certainly not the magical feeling she had been hoping for upon seeing the faded out gold letters spelling out "The Leaky Cauldron".

Genevieve had to have a literal "breather". She had just walked off the last bout of nausea from her experience of side apparition. Maybe it was the incense but something put her stomach on edge about this place. She wanted to be truly sick. It was pathetic. The wizards knew best how to put off muggles and invent the most awful form of travel known to man.

Dennis opened the door to the Leaky Cauldron, letting Genevieve in first as Dennis came in after. The pub was slightly crowded, but it was still easy to get through. Many strange folk littered the dimly lit pub, the bartender calling over Dennis. With Genevieve in his firm grip as she stared around at everything like a gormless infant seeing life for the first time, they walked up to the bar to greet the old bartender.

'My word! Dennis Davies, is that you? Back from Merlin knows where after all these years? How are you M'boy?' said the bartender cheerfully.

'Hello Tom,' Dennis greeted, a hint of surprise at the old bartenders memory and a sorry sense of dread soon following, 'Sorry, but I can't stay and chat, got to go shopping for the little witch.'

Tom's eyes fell to Genevieve beside him and sent her a friendly smile as she shyly smiled back. Tom the bartender of the Leaky Cauldron, her first character with good association from the books, while considerably underwhelming for some, here he was, Tom the bartender, in the flesh.

Maybe her sister had been right. Maybe she had had an obsession.

'So who is the young lady?'

'Oh, right…um-'

What kind of Auror doesn't consider this sort of question? Genevieve swallowed quickly and knocked about the best lie she could form given the short amount of time and legitimacy it could hold.

'I'm a distant relative, not sure how but a relative nonetheless, easy to say we're cousins. My name's Genevieve Davies,' she coughed out before giving herself a chance in saying the wrong thing and continually coughing, the pit in her stomach dropping close to the void in her anxiety to be realistic and believed. Managing to clear her throat, Genevieve continued, 'and Dennis here is my guardian.'

Dennis looked at Genevieve with grateful surprise. Tom smiled kindly, not noticing Dennis's expression.

'What a strange accent you have my dear Genevieve, I've never heard of such a voice before,' said the bartender intrigued. The void was slowly dropping further into her body at this discernment. She hadn't considered her accent being an issue up until now. Apparently Dennis hadn't thought so either.

'I guess you've never met a witch with a terribly sore throat before? It's been affecting my tone ever since,' explained Genevieve as she coughed again. She'd really have to work on perfecting a stiffer English accent before too many people heard her _strange_ relaxed Australian accent.

'Well you're the first witch not immediately seeking aid for it, wizards these days want a cure for everything, even the common cold!' Genevieve smiled uncomfortably at this and wondered how weak wizards actually were. Then again wizards did probably have the cure for everything, the lucky bastards.

'It looks like your dear cousin is getting annoyed at how we've been keeping him waiting,' Tom said with a knowing smile, 'you go ahead and do your shopping loverly,' he finished promptly, sending them off on their way through the bar, just as a large group of witches all shopping together decided to stop at The Leaky for a drink, chips and a giggly gander about their private lives. There were more of them than could be counted for and found it was getting far more rowdy thanks to the new additions and difficult to push through to get to the entrance of the Alley.

Half way there and she was lost to the sea of witches. Genevieve lost contact with Dennis's guiding hand, and was shoved through the crowd of witches by an impatient wizard, whose bags of robes and supplies, pushed her aside from the fray and Genevieve fell clumsily to the floor. She felt the blood rushing to her face, beginning to go red.

_My grand entrance into the Wizarding World and I'm already involuntarily on a sticky floor._

A hand was shown in front of her, offering help to get back. Not knowing whom it was, she assumed it to be Dennis, but when she gripped the hand it felt slightly bigger than Dennis' and the skin felt much more rough and calloused. It was heavily scarred on the back when Genevieve caught a glimpse. When she was back on her feet, she looked up to the person who helped her to see a pair of light, kind brown eyes. If she looked at them a certain angle, they shone almost golden. The repatched clothing and a somewhat shoddy appearance amongst the muted but polite smile and the slight scarring here and there, she was beginning to filter through her memory knowing this was _somebody _when a name stuck clear in her mind.

Remus Lupin.

Her mouth dropped as she simply stared at him, the gormless infant returning to bask in the strange occurrence of meeting a character that she actually liked in a world she was solidly believing was real now. The shame of what she might have looked like staring upon a weathered thirty something man who was already highly self conscious of his status, be it little unknown, had her stand taller as she tried to process some words to say.

'I, thank-thank you, I-'

_Brilliant, I'm becoming Smeagol in front of Remus Lupin. How is anyone supposed to take me seriously?_

'Remus?' Dennis asked incredulously.

_Oh thank God. _

His gaze turned to her, cloak and all looking scuffled but not worse for wear.

'Oh thank Merlin, Genevieve, are you okay?' he asked walking straight up to her, and checking her all over.

Genevieve began to look embarrassed, 'Dennis, I'm fine, really, I just got pushed over, Lupin helped me up.'

From behind Dennis, Remus Lupin was taken aback, as the young adolescent girl knew his name already. Dennis smiled and looked over at Remus again, and Remus smiled back forgetting about the girl for the moment and turning to his old friend. 'It has to have been ten years Dennis, where have you been?' he asked now hugging Dennis who tightly hugged him back.

'Oh I've just been travelling, and taking care of my lovely _cousin_, how about you?' Dennis asked genuinely interested.

'Me? I'm the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, for now…'

'Best person for the job,' Dennis admonished his friend's self-consciousness. 'Dumbledore wouldn't let a gem like you go. Those kids have already dealt with Lockhart as I've heard. They need you Remus.'

Remus looked like he was going to reply honestly but stopped in the presence of Genevieve.

'And if you were about to say something along the lines of what I think you were going to say than that is all nonsense that is was well taken care of at school, so why should it be any different now?'

Remus was surprised and appreciative that Dennis had worded it so in front of someone who supposedly didn't know and Genevieve refused to betray any expression that might see her prying for information later from her guardian. The man opposite them softened a great deal.

Genevieve was looking at Remus Lupin with admiration, when Dennis finally realised that he should've at least introduced them properly, even though it sounded as though Genevieve already knew of Remus too well.

'Remus, this is Genevieve, one of my many distant cousins, Genevieve this is Remus Lupin, an old friend of mine from the Order. He's teaching at Hogwarts at the moment.'

'It's a pleasure to make the acquaintance of another Davies,' said Remus politely, 'you do look quite familiar Genevieve, might I know your parents?'

Genevieve froze for a moment, the question rocking her. Well it was totally impossible, but the reminder…

Dennis looked to her uneasy but she immediately went to the task after the briefest moment to think, further surprised for her ability to act in public when she hadn't been able to contain her emotions at home.

'Most of my relatives lived on the other side of the world and Dennis found me only a few weeks ago so I don't think so sir,' Genevieve explained.

'My mind does tend to play tricks on me these days,' Remus excused, 'the biggest offender at the moment is probably Harry. I only just started getting used to it.'

Genevieve tried not to show she was perking up at the very sound of the name. Lupin would assume it was a fame thing. In a way it was, but also, it wasn't.

'Merlin, how old is he now?' asked Dennis conversationally. She knew he knew the answer but she felt he was doing this to get him to stick around that much longer, just because he was an old friend.

'He'll be fourteen this July,' Remus said as he put his hands in his pockets with a different smile on his face. Like it was reserved for the sadder thoughts that kept him going.

'Probably just as adventurous as I imagined,' Dennis commented, hoping it would lighten up the mood.

Remus chuckled softly, 'I always have the feeling he is up to something. Just as I had hoped.'

But his features darkened quite quickly, the sudden jovialness sucked into the air as the heavy weight had returned. Genevieve wasn't quite sure how to decipher it and he saw her watching him from the corner of his eye. It could have been a myriad of things but he shook it off and smiled again. His features were false set, but it was good enough for Dennis by the looks of his responding visage.

'I best be off, I need to get back to Hogwarts, this was my free period and I was running an errand for McGonagall. If I'm late to her, I won't be surprised if I land myself in a detention.'

Dennis laughed for a moment before sending his friend off with a farewell.

Remus returned the gesture in kind to both of them before disappearing from sight. Genevieve stood on the spot, just smiling, but it was a natural small smile, not cooing kind.

'Well, _that _was close.'

She turned to her guardian and looked in question.

'I guess you've read about him then?' asked Dennis who took her arm in his and had her hold onto his tightly so she wouldn't lose her grip.

'He's pretty significant, and even if he wasn't, he'd still be there in the story…'

There was a period of silence on Dennis' end that she didn't quite understand until she turned to him again and looked to his face. He sighed heavily before coming to and saying what he felt.

'I'm glad you weren't scared of him Genevieve. I'm really grateful for that.'

Genevieve frowned for a moment until it dawned her what he been implying.

'Of course I'm not scared of his condition. He's Remus Lupin. If anything it just makes me more determined.'

'Determined?'

Genevieve paused for a moment before deciding upon whether she should drop the whole thing or just be honest.

'Lupin and I have something small in common.'

Dennis nodded after suddenly understanding what she was indicating. But he looked sort of worried the moment she'd made her ideas for the future somewhat clear while being so very vague. He wanted to make something clear as well.

'All I ask is that you don't let it drive you to insanity.'

Genevieve's brow peaked again before softly saying, 'Hypocrite.'

They came to the back door, and Dennis pushed it open slowly, to see a few sacks filled with rotting food and empty bottles stacked in a strange tower structure, (possibly just a side project of Tom's) and three brick walls. It could be called a courtyard by technicality although it was barely big enough to be called a space.

Dennis walked toward the one wall opposite him and started to tap his wand on some certain bricks in a particular order. He seemed to have trouble remembering the order of which to tap the bricks. The brick wall started to divide, sliding away brick by brick and open up for them. All Genevieve could do was stare at the amazing sight before her.

'Wow,' were the only words that came out of her mouth. Dennis smiled at the awe in her voice.

'I'm in Diagon Alley,' she said unbelievably breathless.

Looking upon the street, the most magical street she could picture in her mind since she was quite young she felt overwhelmed with a humbled joy. The sound of odd musical instruments playing in the streets by buskers and owls swooping by to get their messages across, the smell of something no longer headache inducing but sweet overtaking her senses – and the colours. Genevieve never thought it would be as vibrantly beautiful as this. Even the nagging voices of old hags and witches and the arguments between barterers were enough to excite her.

'We can't stand here all day looking at the street,' Dennis said to her quietly. She smiled brilliantly and took his hand and said fairly elated for the first time in a month, 'Let's go.'

They went to the bank first, Gringotts. Certainly seeing an entirely different race, arguably a different intelligent species was something all the years of imagining couldn't prepare her for. Genevieve had attempted to be respectful while highly curious all the same and they didn't seem to despise her or Dennis so she felt it could've gone worse. They were taken down to the Davies Vault, which had not been opened in years, and when they got down to the vault, which took them a lot longer than expected, she couldn't believe how much was inside.

'When you said you were rich, you failed to mention that you were _Malfoy_ rich,' Genevieve scoffed.

Dennis shrugged off his wealth, almost frowning at the comparison to his family's fortune to that of the Malfoy's, casually adding, 'Your family's life savings including the inheritance left behind for you and Evangeline is in here too. It's been converted into Wizarding currency. I didn't want to leave with the thought of some bank _borrowing _your family's money,' Dennis said.

Genevieve wasn't sure that was quite how it worked in the Muggle world and Dennis had probably been improperly informed even for the little she knew, but she didn't attempt to argue when the shiny things took hold of her concentration again.

When they took two big bags of the Galleons, Sickles and Knuts, they were off. They got all of her books, years one to three of priority and all the supplies she needed. Genevieve had sneezed far too many times in Slug and Jigger's and found the best smelling shop was definitely Flourish and Blotts and Obscurus Books because it far more subtle in charm and essence. The older the books, the better the smell. An avid reader in an old bookshop was like a sommelier in an old but well looked after cellar in Bordeaux.

Dennis let her muck around in Quality Quidditch Supplies and Gambol &amp; Japes and Genevieve felt like she was ten all over again. She bought herself a couple of things to mess about with, and people certainly watched her as though she were "special" or most likely a squib.

Finally on the list, the last item she required was a wand.

Dennis stopped for a moment as she wouldn't move from where she stood outside the fine establishment, simply staring up at the sign: "Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 BC."

Genevieve was so elated that she wasn't quite sure how to operate her legs.

She took a deep breath, as Dennis opened the old door, stepped aside, letting her pass by him and walked in.


	9. Voice(s) of Reason

_Author's Note:_

_J.K. Rowling owns this universe. _

_And since I've read it, this AU isn't considering Cursed Child for further textual stuff. At all._

_Playlist Suggestions:  
_'_Platform 9 &amp; ¾ and the Journey to Hogwarts', PS/SS Soundtrack (No. 6)  
_'_Secrets of the Castle', PoA Soundtrack (No. 9)_

_Edited on 11__th__ of August 2016_

* * *

Book One

_Chapter Eight_

_Voice(s) of Reason_

The shop was full of what looked like antique slim shoe boxes as the dust hung in the air in a constant musty atmosphere. The windows allowed very little light through even as the wintery weather blessed the day's very still cool air with clearer skies and brief but kind warmth of the sun. What little natural light that filtered through was orange, tinged amber sections manipulating the colour of the ancient shop.

Dennis stood a little ways away, just in the background, his inquisitive eyes filled with a welcome nostalgia while also considering the changes since his last visit.

The surreal experience was too strange for her to handle and she had become all too aware of the tingling feeling in her fingertips. Was it the tingling of the magic that supposedly ran through her veins? Or the nervousness and anticipation that pounded in her heart and divided itself to the rest of her joints and muscles?

This was one of the first steps to confirming _this_. Magic. Withheld from her family for generations and destroying them in the same fell swoop of the mystical element's existence hovering with them.

She couldn't escape it once it happened, once she held her own if she managed to at all. Not if she wanted things to be left alone afterwards. Not if she was ever going to find her sister, safe hopefully. Not if Genevieve actually wanted to live, which was evidently something Dennis thought was rather drastic to consider since the threat was so low despite her paled reaction when he'd said the books were true to Harry's life records.

But her sudden onslaught of anxieties vanished at the presence of the man for whom she came to see.

From a dark corner the elderly man, wearing a beaten brown leather apron and a set of glasses a century from its style, which continuously added more lenses for better focus walked past. He was polishing a brand new wand he had just made. She had figured his old age had maybe lost his senses to even notice her, but she was practically glued to the spot, holding in a breath of utter astonishment. He existed, perfect description and all. Genevieve should have said something first. She knew she ought to have but the volume was so low she figured only a trained dog could hear her.

Mr. Ollivander seemed unable to wait for her impossible greeting as his glasses came askew and his wildly white hair only frazzled more from the glasses new sitting spot atop it.

'I was wondering how late you would be to get your wand. However I didn't think you would be this age. I was rather expecting fifteen or sixteen, but thirteen? My, I'm losing my touch.'

Genevieve's mouth was open in shock. Worriedly turning to Dennis he shook his head and reassured her with a small smile.

As she quickly calmed herself, she found her voice and said, 'I didn't realise just how literally insightful you would be, Mr. Ollivander_._'

The old man turned to look at her as he took off his lenses device. He was definitely the wand maker Ollivander. He smiled at her gently as well, meaning no harm.

'Let us not ponder here with such trivial chat, and get you a wand,' Ollivander said as he winked at Dennis and began looking through his stocks.

He brought out at least ten boxes. Genevieve started out confident and then within five wands, her hope had left her. Every one that she tried out would not suit her. She felt rather upset with herself. Five more boxes were brought out, Ollivander constantly narrowing his eyes on the wand to see what just might happen. The last one caused the latest Daily Prophet's pages sitting on a workbench nearby to separate and cover every inch of the store.

'You're breaking a couple of my records, Miss Genevieve.' To her relief, he seemed rather amused by it all. Business must've been slow.

'I'll never find it, will I?' she asked despairingly as she stared down at the light hackberry wood wand in her hand. They had all felt foreign, or uncomfortable or strange in her hold and had caused some small disasters when they were really not right with her. She was holding a piece of wood and yet so much was at stake and she never felt at ease when he plucked said wand out of hand and shoved another haplessly back in its grip.

'Every wand finds it's owner, you just have to give it time,' Dennis said quietly, trying to dispel her worries.

'There is one you haven't tried that I have been thinking might just work for you, and if it is…' but he didn't finish his sentence to her heart's discomfort.

'Alright,' Genevieve lamented, 'I'll try it.'

It took Ollivander at least five minutes to return from wherever he went to get this wand. She would feel bad when it wouldn't work like the others.

'Here we go,' he said placing it on the counter. The black box he chose was very dusty, and looked like it hadn't been tried or even searched for, for years.

By the looks of things, it was probably her last hope. The wand maker took the lid off carefully. It revealed an unscathed, brand new looking wand.

The wand was a dark grey colour with Ollivander handing the wand to Genevieve with precaution.

'Eleven inches and Dragon Heartstring core, with a twist…'

She looked over the handle to see a Celtic knot with a Dragon's head poking out the top.

Looking to Ollivander, her expression was wary, for his to only urge her to try it.

Gripping onto the wand tightly, she felt something change.

For the first time in her life, something had been unleashed inside of her. It was like a feeling of release, of euphoria and of endorphins all at once. It made her feel giddy and suddenly her head was racked by the muffled voices of hundreds of people, all expressing different emotions and thoughts.

"_It looks so tatty, how could she wear such a thing?"_

"_-wait to stop selling dragon dung – Beula will never want me if I smell all the time."_

"_Wish the brat was still at Hogwarts, ruining my bloody-"_

"_Oooh, Three for One deal, if there's ever a time to buy Gilderoy Lockhart's books…"_

Genevieve felt faint, but held herself steady with Dennis' assistance. Her guardian's eyes narrowed the moment he caught her. He hadn't quite expected a reaction like this from a wand.

She had been enlightened - and something in her felt so right. All her fears and doubts cleared the moment she touched this wand and the voices had diminished so much that they didn't bother her so much anymore. But they lingered.

Out of the tip of the wand came a warm golden wisp of welcoming. The wand had chosen her.

'I think this is the one…' she said quietly, looking upon the wand in awe.

'Yes, it's beginning to make sense…'

Genevieve turned to see Ollivander, now sitting in a chair, thinking carefully. He closed his eyes, clearly fighting over his thoughts as he finally said, 'I have only made wands of cores coming from the same source few times in my life. Each wand I make had consideration of the witch or wizard who may one day wield it, but the ones where I was compelled to use the same source for a wand's core – there was always something in particular driving me to do so. Your wand, along with its brother, was made over seventeen years ago, my thoughts being driven by something mysterious.'

'You made this wand and another with the same core source back in 1990?' Dennis asked, a cautious glint in his eye as his only true emotion as he held himself more stiffly.

Genevieve caught on to what Dennis was thinking along the lines of however.

The renowned wandmaker simply gave them a wily smile.

'Yes, Mr Davies. What comes with my knowing what my customers needs are, a few other things fall right into its credentials. I had only thought to add in certain aspects of your life when it became quite clear to me which wand might find you worthy.'

'Where is the brother wand now?' Genevieve couldn't hold herself back from asking.

'That is the wonder in all of this Miss Taylor. You've helped me understand a little better. Or maybe to further question what I know and be alarmed by what may come…'

His head dipped, a heaviness of burden and uncertainty carrying him to the shelves behind him as his finger swiped the edges of the wood that kept his shop organised, albeit messily. A deeper voice that fit his mood spoke with trepidation.

'The other wand was stolen under a month ago, the only time my shop has ever been successfully broken into.'

Genevieve eyed her wand with a speculative gaze. Why would someone go to all that trouble? Her thoughts were disturbed by Dennis' much quicker deductions.

'So you have no idea who wields the wand…'

A weary groan escaped the widely known wandmaker, his voice deepening in the prospects of thievery for terrible means but he faced them now as he faced his own mistake in this.

'I never had the chance to meet them…goodness knows they could be in the wrong hands…'

A chill ran through to her core, a sickly instinct kicking in that she hadn't felt since she'd first met her parents' killers. It all felt too similar to swallow away without pondering.

'I have a feeling it isn't…' Genevieve said quietly to herself.

Unless she was somehow connected to another human being in the Wizarding World through some means other than blood, she felt that this was something to do with her sister.

Evangeline had been kidnapped and taken anywhere. By most theories, she was in _this_ small but boastful area of European territory.

The chance of her being in Albania was slim but not highly unlikely either, but for the sake of supervision purposes, was most likely in Britain. Voldemort was too weak to spare members of his inner circle in Albania to contain her as well.

Genevieve had surmised long ago that she hadn't an idea as to _whom_ would be holding her, that she was even alive was something of a concern that kept her up at night these past weeks. Dennis had assuaged those worries with the method of probability. No one would want to harm or permanently rid of highly valuable goods for Voldemort's use. The dark wizard wouldn't be forgiving to the person who did so. But if she was to be connected to _anybody_ under this particular set of circumstances…

If only these new background voices would shut up so she could hear herself think.

Ollivander looked curiously upon her for answers when she was lost in thought. She had spoken aloud. Genevieve knew she'd have to rein in that bad habit if she was holding seven books worth of secrets in her head. Putting up a façade, she gave him a confused look. He seemed to conclude it as a childish thought process that was quickly lost once again to the myriad of distractions in a thirteen year old girl's lackadaisical mind.

'The authorities haven't given you any indication at all as to who might've _stolen_ the wand?' Dennis asked and Genevieve could hear the seriousness in his voice, but stopped her guardian before he could fire off any more questions in desperation.

'Come now Dennis, there is no point being nosy when the answers clearly won't sate your curiosity.'

Dennis frowned, but had looked somewhat concerned by her cryptic way of saying so. Her expression practically begged him not to push it. Genevieve knew if it had been, all the frustration would just rise in her, and that wouldn't help her move forward. She also had a feeling that whoever was investigating the break in from a month ago hadn't a clue where to start or more so worryingly – had been paid off.

Instead Dennis pressed on to another matter.

'Was that the _twist_ about the wand?' Dennis asked, although his thoughts were elsewhere.

'Oh no…the twist is the light smattering of pixie dust within the core, which is what the two wands share from the same source. The other wand has a wand core mostly made of Unicorn hair, but also has the light sprinkle of pixie dust. Rather flexible with sticky situations.'

Genevieve stood there for a second, looking bemused. Genevieve hadn't been aware pixie dust existed. Cornish pixies, sure, the pesky creatures of some forests and ponds, but this was just too much.

'Pixie dust?' she asked beginning to look humorously at the old wand maker. 'You've got to be joking me? Of all the things and I have _pixie dust_?' she said.

Dennis looked at her as though she'd lost it.

Ollivander waited for her to calm down. When she finally stopped, she asked solemnly, 'You're not joking at all are you? You're being serious.'

'It does sound quite laughable to that of a muggle minded witch. Pixie dust, or the elvish word for it, _magicia poudera_, is taken more seriously than you think. It is one of the rarer substances as it is so hard to obtain from where it's left behind in the habitats of Cornish pixies. I've only come to use it thrice in my near hundred years. Too much and it makes a wielder almost lose control, hence the light sprinkle alongside a compatible core.'

Genevieve just nodded her head, accepting this knowledge and handing the wand back to him by his request.

'I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help to you,' a slight melancholy doused his mysterious, bright eyes.

She shook her head at this in denial and said, 'You've given me all I need Mr. Ollivander.'

The wand, _her_ wand was now boxed and wrapped up neatly, instructions for care on a small scroll of parchment with a new cloth folded tidily in with it. Once he handed it over he said obliquely, 'I hope this wand does what you need it to do. Good day to you both.'

Genevieve only slowly nodded, giving him the same sentiment and thanking him for his service, before leaving promptly with Dennis following behind her.

Once she was out of the store, Genevieve wished for her head to be left to her thoughts, however that seemed quite impossible.

"_What in Merlin's saggy left test-"_

"_I hope he didn't catch that smell – I'm not about to admit my problem."_

"_..."_

"_Ought to put the pork on to roast tonight, Len won't be so solemn then.' _

"_-should've waited. I should've waited. I should've-"_

A new herd of voices attacked her at once and she was shaking her head to manually get rid of them. With the shop she could handle the nattering of what could be narrowed down as two sometimes nonsense voices. Magic was strange and she considered this to be a happenstance of finally inheriting it, although wished Janette had done some research into the Wizarding mind.

Dennis watched her peculiarly as she did this.

'Do you have a headache?'

'No,' Genevieve said, slightly seething through this, her frustration becoming somewhat obvious, her concentration elsewhere.

Dennis decidedly sat her down next to an elderly witch on a bench in the marketplace.

'Clearly something is wrong Genevieve.'

'Just give me a minute Dennis,' the girl in question responded impatiently. The elderly witch looked at the two with some disdain for their minor argument disturbing her.

Pushing her mind to focus on her main problem, she tried to delete them in groups. Genevieve found herself feeling free after she managed to get rid of each one singularly. Once she willed it hard enough to happen, they were quieter, more like her own questioning thoughts now, never completely silent.

Genevieve exhaled heavily as the relief hit and looked to Dennis with a small smile.

'I'm alright now, I swear.'

The frown was still prominent on his brow and the elderly woman was long gone. Genevieve didn't want him to push just yet. They had a lot more to do and she didn't want to be a factor in lack of their productivity when there was a tired Healer meeting them at home.

Through the crowd of witches and wizards, younger kids coming out and about with their mothers and fathers in Diagon Alley, the volume of the voices heightened again to Genevieve's dismay. She found that if she let go too much they would eventually come back with a vengeance. She had to visually imagine a mute button on a remote control in order to hone in on her own thoughts specifically.

It was hitting mid afternoon, and Andy would be home after a long shift at St. Mungo's in a few hours, so they bought cuts of beef from the butcher that horrified Genevieve more than it intrigued her and vegetables from one of the stalls in the popular area of the Alley.

"_5 o'clock I'll start the vegetable roast for the odd one who doesn't eat meat, then I'll get the pudding done by half past, I have to remember to factor in the quail-"_

"_-hag skimped on my pay again! That's it! – Should I go to the solicitors or the Prophet?"_

"_He's staring at me, __**again**__ – not good, not good Helga. He's probably Black in disguise, waiting out his next vic-"_

A shallow feeling of despair hit the bottom of her stomach roughly.

Just as Dennis was handing over the sickles to the young man with a receding hairline, she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. The thought that forced her to consider the name in her mind had long gone from fear, and the person in question was far too short in breath from years of smoking from the same pipe tucked between his lip off to the side of his mouth to inspire very much fear though possibly a wide berth. Paranoia was clearly rife in the Wizarding World, in ways she had forgotten could once be fearsome.

The unfortunate fellow chanced to be a bad man by a sceptical civilian hitched up his trousers and went about his business and unintentionally smeared a dirtied hand from hard walking from being as out of breath as she had predicted on the poster covered wall nearby him. As he pushed himself off and walked away, her eyes were glued to the spot where his handprint would be immortalised. The shallow feeling became worse when her sight saw the poster properly.

The wanted poster was given a chance glance by most passers by, only for them to look away in fear the person in said poster would come out and kill them.

Without much concern for others, she pushed through the oncoming crowds and once she had her own space in front of the large, fear mongering wanted poster looked to it with trepidation. How could she have forgotten this?

The maniacal look coming from Sirius from twelve years before made her feel ill. He'd managed to convince everyone that he'd done it, simply because he went mad with grief. Thinking back to meeting Remus earlier, her shoulders slumped. This truth hadn't been revealed to anyone. Remus possibly considered Harry seeing Pettigrew's name on the map, but he must've believed it was all just coincidence.

Dennis had so quietly sidled up to her that she hadn't noticed him near her. The vegetables were in the cotton shopping bag among the few other bags they had acquired from the trip just for her. She looked to him, only to see him despondently gaze upon the wanted poster himself.

'When I first got home, I couldn't believe this had happened…'

Genevieve only listened to him, as she looked back at the poster.

'Andy had told me when we were hashing the past ten years out…I can't believe he'd managed to escape…I can't believe he'd have the _nerve_ to escape,' but Dennis stopped himself from getting too passionate.

The evidence had been stacked against Sirius and in the worst moment of his life, couldn't bring himself to prove his innocence. Not that he was given the chance to be properly questioned.

Dennis, an intelligent wizard, hadn't questioned the possibility of him being innocent but it was clear that when Dumbledore could believe one was guilty, someone like Sirius Black, who'd been labelled as very nearly a brother by James Potter, one would follow…

It had been clear the betrayal took a hit to anyone who'd known both the Potters and the unknowingly innocent Mr. Black.

'Dennis,' Genevieve began slowly – the voices finally gone for a moment, 'We really need to talk.'

* * *

Dennis looked as though he'd been slapped in the face. Genevieve hadn't realised just quite how shocked Dennis might be.

Genevieve took another sip of her first butterbeer ever while Dennis was almost unable to produce words. He'd looked even worse when it was all connecting together in his head. He had looked so lost as well – like he'd failed or something.

The butterbeer was delicious at first sip. This current dilemma she had put her guardian in however was ruining her first butterbeer experience, making it go sour all the way down.

Dennis began to look awfully sad. Genevieve knew she'd have to fix it for the sake of his conscience.

'Pettigrew did a wonderful job framing him,' Genevieve explained carefully.

Something odd had happened when she started to explain. Like a mild headache was assuming its position, bashing her brain about. She winced slightly, but knew she could cope until she got home and took some pills…or a potion, whatever they did to relieve this pain.

Dennis now looked her in the eye when she decided to continue despite the odd timing of this headache.

'It was just very simple. No one else knew, but the Potters. Lily placed the Fidelius charm over Peter after all. Sirius had suggested it, because he knew that Voldemort would certainly go after him, and much like Sirius, James would have put himself in harm's way no matter how much was on the line to save him from that fate. Sirius suggested Peter because he was the least likely candidate to know the location of the Potters, seeing as he was the weakest and because no one could trust Remus.'

'So when the time came, with the promise that he would live, Peter gave Voldemort everything he needed. Sirius lost it when he went to visit Peter in his hiding place, only to find him missing with no sign of a struggle and discovered soon after what had happened to the Potters. That's when Sirius went to find and kill Peter.'

'I don't blame him,' Dennis said, a simmering anger clearly underneath his careful tone. She was slowly beginning to see the comparison between the two, and swallowed harshly when she realised that this might have been a little blasé on her end.

'I'm sorry Dennis,' Genevieve said sympathetically.

'Sorry for what? Telling me the truth?'

Genevieve shrugged and said, 'Well, I forget sometimes that you all live and breathe this. It's not just a story to you…I feel like I'm still learning that the hard way.'

Dennis sighed, speaking with a little more acceptance of what he had just learned.

'Is it always going to be a big blow like that in the future, whenever you need to tell me something that has to be known?' Dennis asked her.

Genevieve attempted to say something coherent, but she just didn't know.

'I was worried telling you this would make things difficult. Not only for you but for why I'm here. Aren't I just tempting fate by giving someone helpful information, by going away from the books set order?'

The lightning strike pain grew stronger in her head once she admitted this, throbbing ever harder, as though she was playing a game of hotter and colder and had finally hit her boiling target. Dennis looked far away when he responded.

'I'll bring it up with Dumbledore when I visit him…nevertheless Genevieve, I'm grateful you told me, fateful consequences or not."

Dennis put his head in his hands as he leaned over their table in the Leaky Cauldron. He was just letting it all sink in, thinking it all through. Logically speaking, it was very confusing, although the reasons she provided for Sirius choosing not to be the Secret Keeper, sounded a lot like the Sirius he once knew. Of course what she said was true. But it was so outlandish and yet the circumstances leading the old Order member there were just as insane. And now he had been wrongfully imprisoned for over a decade in hell.

'The worst thing is…even if I tried to get a trial to prove him innocent, Peter's death solidified the evidence against him, all the muggles and the Potters combined too.'

When Genevieve said nothing to this, Dennis looked up at her and saw a new expression on her face that looked incredibly uncomfortable. The spit in his mouth turned acidic when he'd come to the exact conclusion she had always known.

'He's alive isn't he?' Dennis said, the disbelief written all over his face and in his tone.

'Did you know James Potter, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew were – _are_ animagi?' Genevieve said in her answer to him, her pitch a little higher than usual, due to the fear of what Dennis might do if she didn't calm the situation down soon.

Dennis' eyes were slowly revealing his real feelings now, but she continued regardless.

'James' was a stag and Sirius' is a black shaggy dog, which is how he escaped Azkaban_,_ and Peter's is a rat,' she said and continued before Dennis could cut through.

'I'm guessing you didn't know because they weren't and still aren't on the register, and they became so illegally in their fifth year – because they did it for Remus – so he could have company on full moons.'

'How is this meant to explain that Pettigrew is alive?' Dennis whispered harshly, his anger becoming clear now.

Genevieve relaxed for a moment, knowing she wouldn't get a message across if she was anxious. She held up her pinkie finger and said the following:

'All that was left, was a finger,' Genevieve repeated the words she'd read, over and over again.

'That's all they found of him yes.'

'He cut the damn thing off himself just before casting the Blasting Curse that killed the twelve muggles that night and disappeared in the sewers in rat form, taking with him the wand that caused it all…No one seemed concerned to check Sirius' wand when he was the only wizard present when the Aurors and Muggle Liaisons went to investigate a matter of performing magic in front of muggles, finding most of them dead.'

Dennis threw a bunch of knuts and sickles on the table as way of tipping Tom before hastily getting up.

'Where are you going?' Genevieve asked as she also got up.

'We are going home, then _I'm_ going to see Dumbledore,' declared Dennis.

'I'm going with you, you know,' Genevieve said with a matter of fact tone.

'No you're not,' said Dennis with finality.

Genevieve rose a brow, arguing, 'You realise there's not much else you can do with that information if you don't know where Peter currently is.'

Dennis turned sharply in his focus to get going, staring at her coldly as she tested his limits. He hadn't thought to learn of Pettigrew's whereabouts before stating an emergency visit to Hogwarts. His eyes narrowed as all the voices returned in her head at once. Although Dennis was only planning on using Legilimens on her, he hadn't expected her to be in some form of pain because of it.

His expression changed drastically as she began blinking oddly, methodically almost.

Giving herself a couple of deep breaths, she looked to him seriously. 'Dennis, you have to let me go with you. You know it's going to be more reliable coming from the source.'

Dennis looked utterly spiteful with her as he said harshly, 'Fine, but we are going home first so Andy knows what's going on.'


	10. First Duty

_Author's Note:_

_It's October, which means I'm keen again to edit and upload again._

_Playlist Suggestions:  
_'_A Window to the Past', PoA soundtrack (no. 7)  
_'_Darcy's Letter', Pride and Prejudice Soundtrack 2005_

_J.K. Rowling owns this universe._

_Enjoy_

* * *

Book One

_Chapter Nine_

_First Duty_

The sky was black with clouds smattering the distinctly open night and its array of gem styled stars, like the early winter dusk of the lowly populated, mountainous lands of Scotland had always been this time of year. It was also consequently blisteringly cold.

Genevieve found she had pushed it with her Auror guardian. He seemed to be punishing her by not giving her the same physical warmth he'd received by simply casting the correct charm on himself. He looked bloody pleased with himself. They weren't even outside. They were in the halls of Hogwarts. She could see her own hot breath it was that cold. But Genevieve was sated she was getting her way nonetheless. And she wasn't sure she'd be useful back home.

Just after they sent word to Dumbledore of an extremely urgent meeting, Andy came home predictably exhausted. Dennis stumbled his way through an explanation to her and she unexpectedly cried from the unbelievable new knowledge. Genevieve felt the cold set in properly when she remembered that moment. It was shortly after they received word that the arrangements had been set and that they would be flooing to the Ravenclaw's Head of House quarters with a window of five minutes access from their personal floo point. Dennis had asked her to come out of guilt but she was far too gone down a rabbit hole of emotion and guilty thoughts. Neither had wanted to leave her alone in that state but she insisted that they go, lest something worse happen in their delay.

All that could distract either of them was Genevieve's very sudden anxious thrumming on arrival. She was inside Hogwarts and she had just met Professor Flitwick who was currently walking alongside them to Dumbledore's tower.

Dennis had been close to Professor Flitwick in his time. Dennis' total and utter respect for the short wizard, compared to that of his siblings complete lack thereof, showed an open-mindedness and common sense over the somewhat blind loyalty imprinted in the minds of most purebloods at a young age.

Professor Flitwick was very kind and offered Genevieve a special brush when she had been covered in soot from his fireplace. She couldn't stop staring in awe at the kind short statured man in front of her, although she understood why this could have been taken as insulting to him. After Dennis explained that Genevieve was quite _new_ to the Wizarding World, Professor Flitwick took her idiotic staring with grace.

'I've never quite seen a student so taken with the corridors of Hogwarts in a long time Miss Davies…will she possibly be attending one day Dennis?' Professor Flitwick asked his past student.

'Most likely not,' said Dennis as politely as he could despite it sounding swift. 'I've been home-schooling her. Genevieve's very far behind you see. She would probably struggle before reaching her own year.'

Genevieve attempted not to show offence. She knew he was sore about her not just handing over the information, but surely he had to understand that she couldn't miss this opportunity.

His expression showed that of strong displeasure still. Genevieve held back a sigh: she'd show that idiot guardian of hers when she got to work with her wand.

'You know who I haven't seen in quite a few years?' Professor Flitwick asked, but when Dennis couldn't answer, Professor Flitwick finished the question.

'Miss Amelia Cunningham,' Professor Flitwick stated with a lovely smile. 'How is she doing these days?'

'She's working very hard at the hospital, always busy I'm afraid,' Dennis said with some strain, trying to evade the knowing smile on Flitwick's face.

'She lives with us actually, like a roommate who can actually cook,' Genevieve commented slyly.

'Well, that makes sense. It was always sort of like a package deal with you two – one didn't come without the other which is what got me thinking about her when I received word on your quick visit,' Professor Flitwick commented lightly.

'Really?' Genevieve questioned with a smirk.

With that, not much else was said for most of the trip to the illustrious Headmaster's tower however the clear absence of students had caught her attention.

'Professor Flitwick,' began Genevieve, her tone hinting only intrigue, 'It's still pretty early, why aren't there any students out?'

Professor Flitwick sighed and said, 'We had to lower the curfew time by a couple of hours. The dementors being just outside the school grounds constantly on patrol and with Sirius Black being on the loose still… everyone's rather tense and with children it's best to be safe than sorry.'

No wonder it was so bloody cold. Those _things_ were still in the vicinity of the school. Genevieve couldn't stop herself from steeply frowning, glad Flitwick hadn't seen, but still finding it all a bit much. Unknown innocence aside, Sirius had managed to cause quite a fuss, even ending up on the muggle news as a threat to their society.

Then again, it was always a bit of a fuss whenever Harry Potter was in any sort of danger.

Hopefully tonight she'd be able to change that. If she convinced Dumbledore of the truth, he might have a chance to convince the Minister. From what she'd read, her chances of getting through to Fudge were very slim, unless he could see a political angle where he was at the advantage and didn't have some pureblood breathing down his neck for a minute.

Dennis looked down on her warningly. She couldn't give a lot away in front of Flitwick as of yet. He wasn't a part the Order previously nor was she certain he would be for the Second Wizarding War.

Genevieve finally saw something she recognised. Her experience at Hogwarts had been underwhelming with all the panic of dementors and what information she'd just divulged on Dennis. But as she looked at the gargoyles she began to feel something bubble inside her, something positive for once.

Albus Dumbledore would be behind the gargoyle statue, up a staircase and behind a door. Who knows if he was even alone, the prospects of others were too great.

The giddiness she was currently suffering from had concerned Professor Flitwick and caused Dennis to act like this was just normal teenage girl behaviour, when really he was hoping she wouldn't attempt to explain. This was why Dennis didn't want to bring her in the first place.

He bent down to her ear and said, 'These are people Genevieve, _not characters, _remember?'

At this, Genevieve refrained from her particular ridiculousness and only expressed her excitement by nervously picking at her nails, her jaw very much glued together by her own force. Right, this was the real world and a _real_ injustice was currently taking place and had done so for twelve years. Dennis was right to remind her. These were people – not characters that she had made past judgements on their personal lives – although technically they were now just people she knew far too much about than she should have and made a judgement on them from that even though that wasn't very fair either.

She certainly hadn't been perfect, but her dirty laundry hadn't been aired out in a popular muggle fantasy series to millions either.

Flitwick quietly said the password to the gargoyle, fearing someone might hear and manage to get word back the Sirius Black of how to get into Dumbledore's office.

The steps began to escalate as Dennis and Genevieve stepped on, waving at Flitwick who kindly waved back, and said his farewell to his past pupil. Slowly the two moved up, making their way up the last few steps they missed when the steps began to reveal themselves and saw the modest castle door, arriving as Dennis stood on the very last step, barring her from immediate entry.

Dennis gestured with his index finger to be quiet and listened against the door as best as he could.

'What are you doing?' Genevieve whispered confused.

'I'm trying to suss out the situation. I had a feeling there was more than just Dumbledore in there,' Dennis replied distractedly. He squinted his eye and said, 'I'd give it another few minutes.'

Genevieve reached past him quickly and knocked, not particularly caring for patience in this matter. He looked rather irritated by this, but Genevieve had become used to this since she'd arrived in Britain. Goodness knew what was currently going on in the Headmaster's office, but she could bet it was rather banal compared to what they had to bring him. For this she stood her ground as his glare moved between her and her offending limb.

'We haven't the need to be keeping up an overly respectful reputation by waiting. Time is of the essence, Dennis.'

Dennis frowned as he realised how well she boiled down his thoughts into a swift utterance. It was uncanny how she nailed his utmost insecurity about this entire situation too.

'Come in,' called a wizened voice, which made Genevieve's eyes widen. Dennis gave her one more warning look before she pulled herself together again.

Dennis opened the door and let himself in, as Genevieve slinked in behind him. She had squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment, only to open them when she'd taken two steps inside.

It was certainly larger than life. Bigger on the inside than it felt it would from the entryway, ceiling high enough to make her look up in curiosity. Albus Dumbledore's office was covered from wall to floor in shiny trinkets and moving portraits of past Hogwarts Headmasters and Headmistresses adorned the walls in an untidy foray, varying in boastful size and modest taste. Few had been listening in carefully on the politics and everyday concerns trying to be solved for the school, while most of these past Heads were either bored or fast asleep. Cabinets displayed magnificently precious artefacts ranging from the oddities to the purely beautiful, gifts from grateful people, colleagues and dignitaries from countries from all over the world of which sat amongst him in the International Confederation of Wizards and the Wizengamot. She had wondered where his life had always been taking him to come across these pieces, a life of collection but not many true connections.

'_Stop judging people – they aren't just the characters in print._'

Listening to the advice that she had previously been given, she tried to stay in the moment, striving not to dwell on these people's pasts.

Currently two men were arguing and she had recognised Remus Lupin immediately, who looked tired already from the heated discussion and far less agreeable than he had been when she had met him earlier on. The other rather batlike looking gentleman who stood his ground with an occasional sneer was hardly about to entertain the new arrivals, far too involved in his current argument. Severus Snape was as intimidating as she had pictured from her childhood. She had expected him to look far older but had to remember he was the same age as Remus, who tended to look more worn out than anybody in their mid thirties. His hooked nose wasn't nearly as exaggerated but it was still prominent among his pallid complexion and his curtain like black hair, the beady eyes remaining to be the most menacing part of his visage. She was sure in his past he wasn't nearly as unapproachable. But time and circumstance hadn't been good to him all these years. Just as he hadn't been in return to those he taught.

Minerva McGonagall stood behind Albus' desk, dressed much in a manner of "appropriate" more than anything. She was taller than Genevieve had her in mind and possibly sterner looking, and her glasses remained strictly to her eyes on the bridge of her nose, refusing to creep down an inch lest they be scolded. But as of this moment, her hat was nowhere to be seen, a symbol of her complete outfit, currently unassembled due to the clear stress and history this situation had acquired and the loose dealings it had required.

But what surprised Genevieve was that her cool demeanour lightened up at the sight of Dennis.

Genevieve came to the conclusion that he'd clearly been a bloody pet back in his heyday.

The man she had heard much about from her own source material and from the Auror who brought her here, sat up straighter and welcomed the newcomers, having become bored of this particular argument.

Dennis' face was a blessing and the best way to end the back and forth between Remus and Snape that was coming close to insanity.

Genevieve had been kept behind Dennis, out of major viewing capability from Dumbledore, and she couldn't see the ageing wizard as well as she'd like to. She was so busy taking it all in and forcing herself to be calm both for their sake and Dennis' that she was coming off as deeply shy young girl.

'Dennis,' Professor McGonagall spoke up over the argument, immediately silencing the two in the heated debate.

Remus and Snape turned to see Dennis Davies looking modestly aware of all that was going on.

'You're back,' Minerva said gratefully as she came to see him and looked upon his features gracefully, taking his head in her hands as though she would her own grown child, saying, 'You've been in your other form for a little too long haven't you, Mr. Davies?'

'Just over nine years, Minerva,' Dennis commented as though he could handle that again. Unlikely.

It made sense to Genevieve all over again – they got along so well due to their animagi forms, both cats. She'd probably helped him become one. It was then something else happened that she managed to keep the reaction to a slight wide eye.

Professor McGonagall was _embracing_ her guardian and not because he'd had something stuck in his throat.

'And who might you be young lady?' McGonagall asked of her fairly kindly after letting him go. A more professional stance had returned within her and it only proved to send Genevieve into an internal mess.

Genevieve couldn't find her voice, even if she tried. Dennis sighed and said, 'She's had a long day Professor. She's my cousin, Miss Genevieve Davies.'

'Yes, please have a seat Dennis. We should discuss this with the utmost priority,' Dumbledore's voice said in slight disappointment toward the two teachers who'd been having it unashamedly out before new people interrupted.

Dennis took a seat, forcing Genevieve in to the other one next to his previously whilst the two professors, now entirely silent, continued to stand, their attention on the new and more dire situation of which they were to soon learn.

'Something triggered my source today and they gave me some very new information that I felt I needed to bring to you immediately,' Dennis said.

Genevieve didn't hear most of what he'd said because she was too busy becoming a gormless idiot at the sheer sight of Albus Dumbledore. His beard was long and well kept, and the half moon glasses glinted from the lighting in the grand office. His nose was crooked as though it'd been broken many, many years before, and never properly fixed, just like her dad's had been once. His robes and coned hat matched and he wasn't one to disappoint, bringing flair with a luminescent turquoise colour robe that shone from the velvet fabric from the many twinkling objects that had been hoarded over time in his tower. Bright blue eyes offered an unwavering wisdom and kindness unlike any she had seen in a very long time. It was hard to fault such a man she had seen as a character most of her childhood. But there were faults. She would have to remember his character hadn't been invincible from flaws, and to hold that when consulting with him with respect in mind.

The old wizard offered a gentle smile her way as he held out a tin of sweets to her.

Although Dumbledore was listening, he'd also been a hospitable man. Dennis declined the sweets himself as "dinner was on the way at home" with Andy cooking it even though the two had planned to do so to give her a night off and chances were Andy was in too much mourning to even consider cooking.

The thought of imaginary dinner back at home didn't stop Genevieve from taking the offered sweet.

Dennis tried to give her a warning "parental" look before she continued without feeling any guilt for it.

When Albus _fucking_ Dumbledore offers one a sherbet lemon, one takes that opportunity. She would have her sherbet lemon moment without being judged for it. Genevieve was sure Andy would understand and was also sure a boiled sweet wasn't going to spoil her appetite later on for imaginary uncooked dinner.

Genevieve was beginning to think Dennis had taken his job a little too seriously when pursed his lips as she popped the sherbet lemon into her mouth, totally guilt free.

'So what is this vital new information Mr. Davies?' Dumbledore asked pleasantly, after placing the lid on his precious sweets.

'It's about…' but Dennis stopped and looked around at the two Professors, Remus looking concerned as Snape looked rather bored and dare she think it, unimpressed. Dennis looked to Genevieve for some help as she said, 'It's fine, believe me.'

Taking advice from a thirteen-year-old girl had certainly perked Severus Snape up into curiosity and definitely something more sinister. He smirked at the display between herself and Dennis, and she fought herself from saying something that would dredge up his past.

'Well, it's about Sirius Black.'

Dumbledore's rather cheery expression became quite the opposite and Genevieve was seeing the man that would be plagued with burden and secrets in the years to come. McGonagall immediately began to fire the first questions.

'Is he getting closer to the school? Is Harry in danger?'

'Not quite as we had imagined,' Dennis decided to ease the situation, 'We had our first discussion today based on the Reader's duties after sighting a wanted escapee poster for Black. They have informed me that he is in fact innocent.'

'_Innocent_?' asked Snape cynically.

'Pettigrew was appointed the Secret-Keeper for the Potters and the few who knew are either dead or were incarcerated. According to the Reader, Pettigrew gave up the information without any hesitation to Voldemort.'

The silence was deafening.

Remus looked like he was reliving that nightmare from twelve years ago, as he sat against the Headmaster's desk and dropped his head into his hands, McGonagall sparing him an apologetic look and Severus looked angry…but it was definitely toward someone else. Dumbledore's grave expression said it all as McGonagall forced herself away from the situation, to look out at the grounds from Dumbledore's window in heavy thought. It was a couple of tense silent moments later that someone spoke again.

'Is the Reader sure of this?' McGonagall asked as she continued to face the window.

'Positively. I was just as shocked as you, believe me,' said Dennis dismally.

Lupin looked deeply upset and felt rather overwhelmed by this revelation. He wanted to scream and to thrash this room to pieces, an unfortunate symptom of getting closer to the full moon and being very emotional in one go that rose up and only made him further angry with himself. He looked toward Genevieve who was currently examining the material of the seat she occupied as she wasn't sure she could see their reactions. He didn't want to come off too rude in front of her, having learned how to handle children her age and didn't think this was her fault but maybe a guardian foul on his old friend's part. But he wasn't sure if this was a good environment for her to take part in.

'Dennis, do you maybe want to take Genevieve to see Sprout or Flitwick?'

'For once I agree with Lupin,' said Severus, the disbelief directed to the situation at hand entirely and not actually on Genevieve's current presence and the concern for her age, 'Miss Davies is a touch too juvenile to be listening in on such adult conversations of the past.'

'She sort of has to be here Severus,' Dennis cut him off before he could go on, 'Otherwise I wouldn't have acquired this information today.'

It settled upon the four professors just who she was after a few moments of going over what Dennis had informed them, all looking to her in turn, although Genevieve had a feeling Dumbledore knew the moment she walked in.

Severus sighed aggravatingly, 'You mean to say that the _Reader_ for the Light is a thirteen year old girl?'

His emphasis on her age only seemed to rile her more and she wasn't willing to keep quiet anymore.

'I'm only a few years younger than the Reader who was kidnapped to help Voldemort. Despite the fact that I'd rather it be _anybody_ else, I will do what I have to and I will do it right.'

Dennis bit his lip to stop himself from reacting although admittedly felt a little impressed that Snape's demeanour didn't frighten her enough to hold herself back.

'Not too many people can say his name without fearing the consequences,' Remus thought aloud as he looked upon her more analytically than he had when he first met her.

Genevieve held her tongue. She didn't really want to get into the rant that explained that Voldemort wasn't a God.

'What is this Reader thing about anyway?' Remus asked when Genevieve never replied to his comment.

'I will explain everything at a more convenient time Remus. Right now we have a very grim situation to attend to,' Dumbledore said carefully as he then asked Genevieve to explain her knowledge on Sirius being innocent.

Recounting the story from the night the Potters were killed, she went through the entirety of her knowledge, attempting to get every singular detail in the right area that might be important for Dumbledore. She knew now, as Dennis watched her, his finger tapping in clear wait for her to unveil the information he wasn't given the chance to get himself, that she'd have to tell them the most damning detail.

'And from the explosion Pettigrew managed to get himself killed too?' Snape assumed from his position.

'No,' Genevieve said quietly, which had everybody involved freeze. Her head began to pound again, like she should have steered clear of the subject, but she knew she couldn't now. Not after all this.

'He escaped as Wormtail in the sewers. He's still alive.'

While total silence was not possible in Dumbledore's office, it was clear that the four Hogwarts teachers had stopped breathing in utter astonishment and the only sounds were the whirring and whizzing of Dumbledore's trinkets and gadgets that never slept. Remus seemed to have the worst reaction of them all and McGonagall seemed to come to the conclusion to keep wary of his temper at this time of the month.

'I'll kill him,' he said before he could stop himself.

'And where would that get us?' asked Severus with a sharp but admittedly angry tone.

'Gentlemen, this isn't the time for arguing,' Albus stood from his chair, looking incredibly stern. The wizened wizard then looked to Genevieve, as she straightened up just that bit more under his gaze.

'Miss Davies, you have given us so much this evening, but would you happen to know Mr. Pettigrew's whereabouts at this time?'

'He's a rat – he could be anywhere!' McGonagall interrupted hopelessly.

'He could be out of Scotland and on the other side of England for all we know, he might've made it out of the Isles by now, especially with Black on the loose,' Snape added realistically.

Genevieve swallowed calmly as Dumbledore refused to answer to his colleagues' distress as he held his gaze on her still.

'You've overestimated Peter's intelligence,' Genevieve finally confirmed, which only caused more confusion for the professor's bar Dumbledore. Dennis himself, unaware of the whereabouts of Pettigrew due to Genevieve holding the information hostage so she could meet these people, was only concerned now for said information and not just how he'd lecture her afterwards.

'He was crafty when it came to framing Sirius: make the evidence fall directly on him and escape with everyone believing Peter was the hero who died valiantly. However his plan hadn't worked out as well as he'd hoped in the long run. In fact, he's played right into our hands if we've given ourselves enough time.'

'What are you insinuating Miss Davies?' Remus asked, the desperation showing in his eyes.

Genevieve found that throbbing her head from earlier would strengthen whenever she was too direct. She knew that feeling was returning and felt she ought to listen to it.

'Why do you think Sirius escaped Azkaban?' Genevieve asked Dumbledore, 'Now that I've told you all of this.'

For the life of him, Dumbledore couldn't answer the way he wanted to. He knew there was much, much more to this, but he couldn't see how other than the programmed answers of being a threat to Harry's safety. After short deliberation, he shook his head. She willingly gave him the answer instead.

'The Weasley's were in the Daily Prophet for winning the Annual Grand Prize Galleon Draw, a nice spread on the front page with an arrogantly large photograph to go with it. Sirius had come across it only to escape shortly after in his animagus form.'

'What does that have to do with anything?' asked Snape impatiently. But someone else had caught on much quicker to her track of theory.

'Ronald Weasley _owns_ a rat as a pet…been in the family for over a decade, it used to be Percy Weasley's,' McGonagall realised.

'A bit long for a common garden rat to live, isn't it?' Genevieve questioned rhetorically, 'And it just so happens to be missing a finger?'

'All they found left of Peter was a finger,' Remus said as he slowly sat down in his chair, to best hold himself together.

'Pettigrew's been in the castle _the whole time_?!' exclaimed Dennis, frustrated with both Genevieve for not having just told him this and because they were there in that moment.

'Actually thanks to Miss Granger's cat it seems he could be gone for good,' McGonagall said bleakly.

'Crookshanks is helping Sirius to capture and kill him, he knows Peter is Scabbers because he's half kneazle and can sense the fraud in him,' Genevieve added as a side note to the discussion.

'And what will he achieve by killing Pettigrew? He's just asking for the return trip to Azkaban,' Snape argued.

Whilst Remus heavily glared, Genevieve felt the need to step in. She knew there was always going to be animosity between the two people for good reasons, but that didn't mean she could let it slip by without explanation. It didn't hurt that she wanted to deal some harsh truths out, no matter the consequence.

'He's already been in there for twelve years, a sentence you yourself luckily escaped-'

'Genevieve,' Dennis said warningly.

'Of course he isn't going to be thinking his actions through. He hasn't had a free logical mind after being surrounded by those creatures you call guards. But he hasn't forgotten about what happened and for that we should be glad or Harry could have been handed over by Peter to what little existence of Voldemort and his followers are left. Sirius knows not to take Peter's constant living threat lightly. Neither should we.'

The outburst, which had caused her to stand and slowly edge closer with each passing word, had surprised those around her, particularly Dennis, who hadn't quite expected her to do it to someone as daunting as Severus Snape. Snape hid the disgusted expression, showing that a teenager took him aback nonetheless. The only one who had been capable had been said boy they planned around to keep safe and sane, and that was from his mere stare and occasionally familiar mannerisms which caught the Potions Master off guard at the best of times. But Genevieve had done so with full knowledge of what he was capable of and knowing she had the upper hand with a fist full of his past and secrets. His glare was intense and protective and it seemed to wake Genevieve up.

_These are real people who have made mistakes._

Genevieve closed her eyes in regret and gave a deep breath.

'That was out of line…I apologise,' Genevieve said painfully.

This caused Snape to frown, his anger clearly not sedated.

'That's quite alright Genevieve,' Dumbledore accepted before Snape could get as impassioned as Genevieve had previously been.

Remus hadn't seen a Hogwarts student stand up to Severus Snape and get away with it. It was most likely the presence of Dumbledore among three others, but Remus would remember that moment for a long time afterwards, especially when her somewhat dignified apology only made Snape look to splutter.

Genevieve's pained expression seemed to continue throughout as she pushed onward, the pain increasing in her frontal lobe when she was succinct enough.

'Pettigrew is still on the grounds. Hagrid will find him soon and return him to Ron, only for it to create a big mess with the dementors when "Padfoot" arrives involving your three usual suspects,' Genevieve sheepishly recalled from memory. But she then frowned and said, 'What were you thinking giving a third year a time turner?'

McGonagall looked directly to Genevieve and remained stoic in her reply as Snape too looked somewhat curious after simmering down from his original temperament.

'Miss Granger is a hard case to argue against when wishing only to educate herself, though I was glad to hear she dropped a subject. Besides, she is quite capable of understanding the rules of time-travel and I know she wouldn't use it for unnecessary purposes.'

Genevieve smiled slightly and said, 'Now that you've been made highly aware of this situation, I trust she won't have to use it to save a hippogriff's life or that of Sirius Black from receiving the dementors kiss in the near future.'

'That is what the books have told you, haven't they?' Dennis asked lightly.

Genevieve nodded somewhat. She was cautious to add the following:

'I hope the situation doesn't get so drastic to be on the evening of a full moon. Best to remember your potion every full moon Mr. Lupin, and best to either pull forward the planned date of "Buckbeak's execution" so that transforming not even viable,' Genevieve said with the quotation marks and all.

As the Professors looked at each other in concern of this, Dumbledore simply nodded to her in acknowledgement, 'We certainly shall Miss Davies.'

Dennis looked up at the time on the rather large clock face on the wall nearby and back toward Genevieve suggesting, 'We should be getting back to her after what we left her with. Have you said all you needed to?' She shook her head but promised it was one last thing. She looked to Dumbledore, almost pleadingly with his next request.

'If somehow see Sirius before everything will most likely come to a head…just try to reach out to him, tell him you won't turn him in and that you know the truth about Wormtail. And if you could, maybe explain the truth to Harry. He knows quite a lot and I daresay damage can be done with the false story running through his head.'

The voices began again, racing with questions as to how he came about such knowledge to begin with. Who was to blame? Who slipped up? Or was Harry far more observant than even Snape cared to admit.

As the voices grew angrier, they grew louder but they were becoming recognisable.

'_Enough_ already!'

But she hadn't realised that she said this aloud. Genevieve had simply been trying to quiet the voices in order to think better, find if there was any other significant piece of information Dumbledore and his colleagues needed.

'No one was speaking Genevieve,' Dennis said carefully as he watched her, analysing just what was going on with her.

'Yes…I had a feeling that was the case…' said Genevieve dumbly. She looked around at the odd stares and decided it was best to leave. She silently bid them adieu and turned on her foot toward the door. When it closed behind her, Dennis sighed and excused her awkwardly. 'Like I said, she's gone through a lot lately.'

'Genevieve has lost a lot,' Dumbledore countered, 'and is suddenly expected to take on the tasks of the all knowing, even at such an age to be undertaking it. I don't expect her to be perfect Dennis, but I can see that she won't disappoint us.'

Severus looked as though he could argue that but Remus could see the potential, just as Minerva could, despite her slightly uncomfortable outburst and exit.

Dennis thanked Dumbledore as he responded, 'It's just become easier for us. Naturally she's warmed more to Andy, but we're getting there.'

'It's good to hear you're not alone in rearing the girl and that you finally got together,' McGonagall said relieved.

Dennis smiled awkwardly as he said, 'We're not together.'

'I'm sorry I assumed,' said McGonagall sternly, as though this was no fault of her own.

'You're not the only one who has,' Dennis brushed it off.

Wishing them luck with what they might do with the new information Genevieve had given them, Dennis left out the door and down the stairs. He found Genevieve talking to herself, berating herself and knew he would have to interrupt her soon enough.

'Genevieve?' he asked her carefully as she turned and looked somewhat flustered. Genevieve looked as though she was trying to act normal. Dennis could see right through it and knew right now was not the time nor place for him to ask.

'Let's go home,' he suggested quietly.

She only nodded in confusion and followed alongside him in step, making their way down to the entrance of the castle.

* * *

Andy was practically swimming in goblin made red wine. It was some of the Davies' family's finer stuff but she knew Dennis wasn't one for wine and no one else was left alive to be bothered. Not that she felt Dennis would be bothered either way.

She swirled the last few drops of her second glass around expertly, watching it crash against the side of the glass and once spilling a couple of drops onto the old wooden table, set up for the servants from their time of work. The house elves who were long gone to leave her with a large house covered in booby traps to keep her safe because Dennis wouldn't have it any other way after the near death experience.

She was set up for life and it had to possibly be the strangest arrangement she'd ever agreed to, but she wasn't sure she ever wanted to decline. Sure it came with a hormonal recently orphaned teenage girl who had the world on her shoulders thanks to another daft prophecy, and it meant living in more danger than she had in over ten years. But she couldn't stand the thought of being out of his life again.

And well this whole new revelation was the absolute cherry on top.

The heady sigh filled with alcohol and exhaustion was one she felt to its very end.

When she was seventeen and very new to the bigger Wizarding World, she found everything to be a lot more difficult being single and a muggleborn, but she wasn't entirely defeated. She had known Lily Evans in school as a younger student needing guidance. McGonagall had swiftly sent Lily Evans when Andy's grades were slipping in third and fourth year due to the increasing awareness of her very unlikely future in the Wizarding World. Lily didn't give her anything that an after-school special would have offered. And she was so thankful for that. The red haired Prefect was as frank as they came but she was so ready to push and force her way into the world with her incredibly charming manner of being and a slight cunning that Andy had admired her for many years to come. James was never too far away from their conversations to eavesdrop and fall further head over heels with his future wife. Andy thought he was goofy and she'd never felt intimidated by him simply due to the fact that such a bravado façade he was well known to have melted whenever she caught him nearby them. By the time Lily gave him the time of day, he would drop by without fear whenever Lily came to chat with her.

It wasn't until she joined the Order with Dennis straight out of Hogwarts to Lily's pleasure, that she met Remus, Sirius and Peter. Remus' status wasn't well known but being an apprentice Healer at St. Mungo's gave her the knowledge she needed on most people's medical records so when battle commenced and injuries both small and life threatening took place she was ready to aid her companions. Remus was slightly amused by her curiosity of documenting his cycles, considering most treated him like he had leprosy. She was hoping a cure or some relief would come into effect soon, as she had heard rumours around the hospital that the young Damocles Belby was working day and night on a potion beneficial for the Werewolf community. By the time it had all hell had broken loose and the Order had been disbanded because it was supposedly over. Remus hadn't been very good to keep in contact and she could understand why.

Sirius had been a ruckus-inducing playboy with an unfortunately terrible family who loved the purist ideals of Voldemort's clan. He had been everything opposite to them since birth and his only open regret back then had been not corrupting his rule abiding, blindly following younger brother Regulus enough. He was also unabashedly flirtatious but also very protective. He was willing to make her part of his new broken family when he'd found out about her loss as a platonic older brother. Sirius had never given off the impression of being able to betray anyone he cared deeply for back then, especially when Harry was born. She couldn't picture it and it was so hard to hate someone who had been willing to put his life down for his friends, after all he had done.

She had come to accept the truth after a few months of throwing herself into work and meeting Jonathan had given her a wonderful distraction as Dennis seemed to be losing himself to his own work despite her best efforts to keep him social. Sirius had been a wonderful friend, but that couldn't cloud the fact that he had betrayed everyone.

But he hadn't.

Peter had been quite happy to join in on the fun and had tagged along in the underground war effort when things were truly serious and loved ones were lost every second day, although she couldn't understand why. He was never quite good at fighting and was more likely to flee from danger than run toward it wand blazing like the Gryffindors she grew up with. He was more calculating, and chose his battles carefully after a few years with the Order. He was very rarely tasked to secret missions, and now she knew it had something to do with the very secretive animagus status he held as a rat. Andy knew that not everyone could be on the front line; she had already risked so much by just being aid in battle and knew the genuine fear when a death eater approached her in the midst of healing one of the members. She was always quick with instinct but until she'd actually been attacked in her own home, fear had grappled her often when curses ricocheted off walls and other people. She was lucky that another member was never far behind and Sirius often came to her side to blast back any intruding Death Eaters.

But Peter, well, it might have all worked well in school, but in adulthood things were slightly different.

When the events came to her the way they did, friends dead, their child orphaned, it genuinely befuddled her as it also crushed her.

But now with the truth, it was so much harder to swallow. After all these years...

And so she whipped the bottle open again and poured herself another drink. The tears had subsided to a small flow every now and again. The heaving sobs began when Dennis and Genevieve left. But she was now feeding herself the expensive alcohol to sate the emotional state she had been in.

It was best to say that she could feel the pure sense of light-headedness overtake her heavy sadness and guilt.

From somewhere not so far off, Andy could hear a door closing and knew Dennis and Genevieve had come home. The Healer struggled to find her wand only to realise it was sat on the table. Drinking and wand casting was never ideal, but she knew if she looked like a mess, she would only unravel further at their stares, warmth or no.

Before she could charm her face to look less flushed and her eyes whiter than they appeared, Dennis clambered solidly through the swinging kitchen door. Andy froze in place hopelessly and Dennis found her sitting at her spot, despondent about the world. His shoulders slumped at the sight of her.

'I've ordered fish and chips from the Leaky,' Andy said miserably, although resigned herself to staring at the table instead, specifically the wine stain she'd left from her loose handling. Her wand was back on the table now.

Dennis was quietly thinking for a moment before turning around and talking to who she assumed was Genevieve, their shared responsibility since her own devastating loss. After a short conversation, the door swung open again and the two were alone in the kitchen.

'It's going to be okay Andy,' Dennis said reassuringly.

Andy didn't say a word. Dennis sighed and said, 'Sirius will be fine, I'm sure he understands why you didn't believe him.'

Andy looked up at him, as her eyes showed she believed otherwise. She was sobering up quicker than she would've liked.

* * *

Genevieve was given a bag of coins and a direct order from Dennis after hearing Andy's dismal voice. Gladly taking the coins with her, she instead opted to listen in through the door. She knew they wouldn't say anything to her face after all.

She began to hear the crying and knew it was Andy.

Even Genevieve knew there was no point in listening to the rest.

Making her way to the drawing room where the main floo system was, she waited for Tom to send word to pick up and pay for the food Andy had ordered for them.

When the bartender's head popped out of the fireplace through the green flames, Genevieve held onto the coins securely as she followed his message soon after to his establishment.

She was saved from hearing the voices for the first time and soon equated it to the fact that she was left alone. Handing her the newspaper covered family sized meal; she handed over the coins to Tom, with a couple of galleons for a tip.

'That mustn't be right,' Tom frowned at the heavy tip.

'We're big tippers in a crisis,' Genevieve said quickly and turned back into the fireplace, thankful for the smell of salty, greasy fish and chips.

When Genevieve returned, she heard nothing but silence and quietly knocked on the door.

Dennis was hugging Andy as she sat in her chair and he kneeled on the floor beside it. She was quietly sobbing into Dennis' shoulder as Genevieve placed the fish and chips on the table.

Getting some plates while Andy slowly calmed down, Genevieve put out table settings and cutlery, finding the ketchup and brown sauce in a top cupboard, along with salt, mint sauce (a weird thing Andy had with a few meals) and some sparkling elderflower juice on the table with glasses to fill for herself and Dennis.

Andy had sufficiently settled and her puffy bloodshot eyes watched as Genevieve unravelled the fish and chips Daily Prophet newspaper packaging and just started grabbing the bits she wanted with her hands.

'Don't tell me you've forgotten how to eat fish and chips Andy?' Genevieve questioned jokingly.

Andy looked grateful for the change of conversation, the entire change of thought.

After a good half hour of talking over the shopping and Genevieve's child like fascination with Diagon Alley itself, Andy had finally come to the topic of her wand.

'I put it away so you could show me. I didn't want to peek at it until you told me how it went getting your wand,' Andy said as she stood up to take her wand out of her pocket. Her cheeriness had returned and Dennis also looked happier for that.

Flicking her wand, the small box flew gently into Andy's grasp from one of the cabinet cupboards. Handing over the box and putting it in front of Genevieve, she wiped her hands on one of the expensive set of napkins and carefully lifted the lid.

When she revealed the wand, Andy looked at it in its box and went, 'Hmm, ziricote,'

'Sorry?' Genevieve asked amused.

'The wood type, it's ziricote. I haven't seen that in quite a while.'

Although Genevieve was surprised there was a wood called "Ziricote", she was surprised at Andy's vast knowledge on wand woods.

'Andy would have become a wandmaker if she didn't have such a knack for healing,' Dennis shortly explained, a shy smile on his face when Andy looked touched that he had remembered after all that time apart.

'If I'm not mistaken, it's a rather powerful wood. It's known to be the wand wood for the "protector" and is rumoured to help delve into a deeper level of the mind,' Andy said as she picked it up.

Genevieve wondered whether she should voice her concerns about the _deeper level of mind_ stuff. The voices weren't there so much now, but every now and again, she began to question their presence.

'In the wrong hands, it might be uncontrollable,' Andy said as she delicately looked at it, clearly fascinated with the texture and look.

'What's the core?' she asked out of curiosity, her dark brown eyes twinkling.

'Dragon Heartstring…' she said before Dennis finished for her.

'With a bit of Pixie dust mixed in,' which caused Andy to frown but then look rather amazed.

'Well that would explain the ziricote,' Andy said apprised, 'It would possibly help to tone down the pixie dust elements to work it's way. Dare I say it, Ollivander got creative with this wand.'

'As well as its brother,' Dennis said as he took a sip from the elderflower juice. Genevieve clearly didn't think this would be brought up, but digressed, as Andy looked mildly surprised.

'This wand has a brother?' Andy asked, handing it over to Genevieve and letting her hold it as the young Reader chose to explain.

'It was stolen from Ollivander's stocks over three weeks ago when his store was broken into. It's hard not knowing what the cause of it was and who would…I just don't know.'

'And that's why I think it is in part and parcel with the prophecy.'

'What could this have to do with…' Andy began and then slowly came to see Dennis' mindset.

'I had a feeling it could be for Evangeline, but I don't want to bring myself hope if it's not,' Genevieve answered before Dennis could.

'It's almost too coincidental…' Dennis surmised, 'I only wish I knew about it sooner. The way DMLE can be paid off these days, the evidence was likely destroyed before it could have been properly investigated.'

Genevieve dropped her chip and felt rather ill quite suddenly. The voices in her head had become stronger though there were only a couple now. It was a constant train of thought barraging her head to bits. Fire burned behind her eyes and a queasiness she hadn't felt since that night were building inside her and up to her throat. Genevieve had a frightened feeling it had nothing to do with the meal.

'Genevieve, are you alright?' Andy asked after watching her skin go paler and her forehead beginning to glean in slight sweat. Dennis took himself out of his thoughts after hearing this and looked to Genevieve.

'Um…'

Genevieve never finished her response. She was too busy passing out into the plate of chips and fish, sauce squishing along her left cheek as her eyes rolled back and she began to shake vigorously.

All she could hear was the fast scraping of two chairs on tiles and her wand rolling off the table and onto the floor with a little clang.


	11. Miss Evangeline Voiler

_Author's Note:_

_On the other end…_

_Lyrics from Finian's Rainbow, 'Look To The Rainbow.'_

_Playlist suggestions: _

'_The Poet Acts (from The Hours)', The City of Prague Philharmonic Orchestra &amp; James Fitzpatrick.  
__'Snape &amp; the Unbreakable Vow', HBP Soundtrack (No.5)  
_'_Lily's Theme', DH Pt. 2 Soundtrack (No.1)  
_'_Curious Feeling of Falling', A Series of Unfortunate Events 2004 Soundtrack._

_J.K. Rowling owns this universe._

_Enjoy _

* * *

_x_

* * *

Book One

_Chapter Ten_

_Miss Evangeline Voiler_

_-31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36…_

She dropped the rouge paint and the fashioned twig she'd found from under the dresser, her arm slumping to her side. The room was quaint, old fashioned and rather gendered for a girl. She would have dreamt of this room as a child. It screamed old money and had a vanity among a collection of rusted necklaces and pearls. Why anyone would bring her to this room was beyond her comprehension…

But it was better than being where they'd put her originally.

For days, or maybe weeks, she was stuck in a cold cellar with a concrete floor and a blanket. She had never seen her captor, everything was done the moment she fell asleep from extreme fatigue, like they knew when her eyes would shut tightly. Her food of water and bread would arrive for her in a bowl and chalice and that was all she would have for the day when she woke up. She was never truly full and was beginning to see the effect of near starvation on her body and her mind. Her hands had been frail and she stank for days, the water going down her raw throat that had screamed in terror of her new space until she was hoarse and her lips were dried out.

Fever dreams were constant back then; of the night she stopped seeing her home and family. Of what she had imagined were little creatures bringing her food and taking care of her what little they could. From the looks of them they were prisoners of their own circumstances. Not that she was certain they even existed.

One day when she'd lost all hope and an infection had surely spread through her body from her cold and damp environment and all round terrible treatment, she fell asleep expecting to never wake up, accepting her fate tearfully as she prepared to die alone.

And then she woke up another day, surrounded by deep yellow sunlight coming through an actual window, her body clean and wrapped in sheets and pillows and _warmth_. Her natural blonde hair was softer than she had ever felt it and her skin had never been cleaner. Her viral infection had cleared miraculously and her back and neck were no longer sore from sleeping on a cold concrete cellar floor. It had been so long through her torture and she had been so traumatised from this confusing experience that she burst into tears in pure panic.

Sitting on a silver tray _that floated in the air_ were fresh cooked eggs with a side of toast and a pot of tea with the finest teacup and saucer she'd ever seen. And as inviting as it looked, she was so scared to eat it. So scared to consume anything, lest it do something to her.

She felt like time had been missing. As though she had felt and done more but never actually had. Like she was vividly dreaming and then it was all just made up memories lost to a blur of infection and imprisonment.

And that's when she saw the door.

A door.

To leave this room.

The cellar had no door. She didn't know how she could have possibly been thrown in there. And what was worse was that she was certain that anyone looking for her would never find her. And now there was opportunity.

Throwing the blankets off her frightened body, she nearly tripped over the old floor length nightgown attached to it in her haste to make an escape. She was feeling a rush of adrenaline that hadn't existed for quite some time. The cabin fever and little food had made her ravenous for freedom and she was so close. She stopped short of throwing herself through the solid structure before reaching for the door handle.

Wriggling it in hopes it would open, her heart fell to the pit of her stomach. It was locked. It was a new type of frustration that rose up and spit through her body like hot oil in a pan. Pinches of hopelessness and anger all colliding together to make her completely release.

She banged and banged against the door. It hurt her hands after a while, so she went for the nearest object that wasn't pinned down only to see a frightened elf in pillowcase rags click its fingers.

She was out like a light after that.

Reawakening shortly after, she found herself face to face with her assailant once more. She was backing up against the headboard of the four poster bed and preparing to grab anything to throw at the strange creature, knowing that if she froze now she was gone for good.

The elf sighed as it clicked its fingers, stopping her for good.

She couldn't move a muscle, literally. Her eyes were glued to the elf and she couldn't scream no matter how hard she tried.

'Mistress ought to listen. Mistress needs to stay calm or Mistress won't see the light of day ever again.'

It was that day she met Crispy, the House elf. He was tasked with taking care of her under the orders of his Master of whom he never named. She had been told why she was there and why it was best to obey. Crispy didn't have all the answers, nor did she think he could physically give her all the answers if he wanted to. He was ducking his head out of harm's way, and if she knew anything about the nature of House Elves, it was best that he did. And she seemed to trust him, his nature of willingness to help despite a brisk character of bluntness made her want to trust him and it was this that freed her body from his spell that day.

And if he somehow existed…

It clicked when he produced a long box to her but she couldn't quite absorb it as reality.

Having grasped the object inside the box however, a lengthy piece of wood almost perfectly shaped to her hand and the cold feeling rushing through her body when she felt in control as tingles tickled her nerve endings in her fingers and toes…There wasn't anything quite like it in her few years of living.

Magic was real. She was right to be angry. And she didn't have all the answers yet. But she knew with the right memories, she might acquire them for herself soon.

Nearly 36 days since she assumed she was taken from her home, she moved the small dresser back with some effort to cover up her count strikes. It was the only writing utensil she was given considering her wand was far more useful for other things and all the paper optional was a wall. She kept that number in her head, just in case they found it. And just in case they knew she was counting, she kept mark of it.

The blonde girl stood up from her position and looked toward the empty vanity with one small difference. The box laid upon it with the wand kept safely inside.

Her wand.

It was a very light yellow coloured wood called Silver Lime, rare thanks to the popularity and overuse of the materials from two centuries before. It was powered through a Dragon Heartstring core. That was all she knew, all Crispy would give her.

But she had felt a sense of déjà vu the first time she had held it. And she was certain the new voices in her head agreed in some way.

It was narrowed down to her clear insanity. Being stuck in such conditions of a cold, hard dark cellar for a few days, hardly eating and drinking and getting sick as well. A new conscience might have popped by and stayed to watch this play out. She wasn't ruling out some sort of mind intruder either, but the incoherent utterances and the occasional focused plans and lists gave her the impression that she wasn't the one being intruded on. Rather someone had stumbled in without realising and never left.

The voices certainly caused to entertain when there was little else to do but stare bored and attempt the few spells she could think of from when she read fictional children's books. They had been so long ago, and she wasn't sure the same spell could apply in just any magical world. This could have been a completely different one. However Crispy echoed the descriptions of the House elves in those specific books she'd read to a tee. It was enough to keep her going with the wand practice from her small memory of learning. And to keep listening in on the non-consenting voices as well.

Picking up the wand from its box, she twirled it through her two fingers and sat down on the seat in front of the vanity. She had managed two spells. A levitation charm famous for its lengthy wording and pronunciation, "_Wingardium Leviosa_" and a charm that turned the lights on and the other that turned the lights off, "_Lumos_" &amp; "_Nox_". Technically that was three.

While those charms didn't fail to both astound and amuse her in this dire time, she knew that they would be little help for her in finding out the truth and most importantly, getting out of here.

And it was then she remembered.

"_Alohomora."_

It was like washing her face with cold water after a long weary slumber. The answer was tucked away inside her mind all this time. Now all she had to do was chant it right with any wand movement she could think of. There would have to be a specific movement, and she couldn't narrow down which one it was yet, but it was still a big leap in her progress.

Her seat had now moved to place itself inches away from the door, as she worked on the incantation and movements well into the turning afternoon. Her back was now hunched and a drain unlike any other was beginning to take its toll on her. Could incorrect spells do that? She certainly theorised so.

After many hours, a quietly spoken attempt as the sun began dipping in the west was the shot that capped the lock in the door's mechanisms. The audible "_click_" was music to her hopeless ears.

It took her a moment or two before she went and took action. She moved the chair back and took a couple of deep breaths before she approached the door and took hold of the now free handle. Anxiously, her hand turned the doorknob and found no resistance. Her heart beat hastened by a few paces and she clicked her jaw nervously. The door came inwardly and she had to force herself to look out into the open of which she had wondered so much about.

It was a hallway as she had expected, a daunting ceiling making her feel ten inches tall with very low lighting from modest fixtures attached to the incredibly high ceiling that she wouldn't stop marvelling over. It was certainly not modern from what she could see, and the shadows left from the last light of day was not doing her nerves any good, looming into shapes and figures that made her clutch onto the magic wand. Knuckles white with tight fear, she held her wand out in front of her. There was no fight she could give. She had hardly any energy and no knowledge to defend herself with magic properly.

But she couldn't stop in fear. She had to keep going. This was her only chance.

Momentum picked up and her feet were no longer like lead, fleeing the hallway with a thud in every landing in her heart. The long skirt of her sleeping gown had to be scrunched roughly in her hands, the expensive material ruined as she heightened the pace of her run to the end of the hallway. The door was already open a crack, so she didn't hesitate to throw the door back, only to stop it before it made contact with a nearby wall, alerting anyone in the vicinity of her plans.

The next room was larger, and by far grander than the hallway that led to her comfortable prison. The lights in the room fired up of their own accord, something that did nothing to ease her fear. She saw more clearly that she was in the entry hall of an old and distinguished home. A manor possibly. Dark marble and wood clashed together in the intimidating area, boasting fine portraits that were currently having some shut eye as their snores echoed audibly. A staircase led down toward the bottom floor where these alarming portraits visibly slept.

First Crispy, the house elf, the wand, and then _this_: it was all remarkably clear that she was in the world she had once read in a book, although she had come to realise that she wasn't in the good part. The part where almost gothic style and dramatics was far more appreciated than the colourful world she had imagined in her head. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself. It didn't remove the living paintings, but it did remind her of her end goal.

_Leave. Run. Get out. Now._

And so she hastily retreated with feather steps down toward the staircase and further onward to the bottom floor. Met with cool dark wood, she hunched over and looked up at the paintings now either side of her, her breath well and truly non-existent with trepidation.

A noise to her left snapped her to attention, staring wide eyed at the direction only to see the portrait of a Georgian female in all her fancy fare, white lead make up, heavy rouge and a tall wig with breasts most prominent from her corseted dress, snore unattractively, and fall against the frame of her portrait, magnificent nest of hair weighing her down the side.

The cold sweat seeped through her undergarments before her heart could work again. Examining the area more cautiously, she soon realised a gold plaque sat proudly underneath every portrait.

Approaching the sleeping portrait as quietly as a mouse, the prisoner looked as closely as possible while trying not to stir the portrait's occupant.

_Henrietta Montague of Versailles_

From the tones of the voices in her head, she had to suspect their dialect was in congruence of her location. The sound of this name and the many others were also adding to the conclusion.

If she was in Britain then she had to question how they managed to get her here. But from the upper class accents she had a chance of being south, which meant less chance of being in the middle of nowhere. The look of the house gave her the impression that they were in fact unfortunately quite isolated, especially because magic was involved.

With such brief information to go by, she would have to continue on into the unknown uncertain of her captor and their reason for taking her in the first place.

She sought out another exit and her eyes landed on three doors, two leading to other rooms opposite each other and another that gave her a distinct sense of the end. The wind that swirled and raged against it, the cold that sifted through the large, old double doors slight gaps, it was, it had to be the outdoors…

Throwing her body into a fresh sprint, growing anticipation of feeling the blistering cold on her skin, a grin began to take over the constant fear and hopelessness. Weeks of torture would be over, she would find civilisation and she would be free again.

An invisible tug left her reeling.

She tripped and fell over on thin air, colliding on the wood floor and rolling toward the door. A new click that made her feel sick to her stomach echoed across the entrance hall. It was the door, as she presumed in the worst fate for any near escapee, locking itself to any who tried to leave.

It just had to be taken, her chance of freedom…

Three house elves, Crispy being one of them who had a face of stone stood by a tall figure cloaked in the shadows at the top of the staircase.

She began to cry when she slowly saw her fate changing before her very eyes. Her wand was still by her side, but it was a useless weapon in her defence. She sat up and scooted toward the door as the figure began to walk down the stairs. She couldn't stand to look at him, what monstrous creature they could turn out to be, what sickening things they planned to do now that she had nearly successfully escaped.

_On the day I was born, said my father, said he, _

_I've an elegant legacy waitin' for ye,_

'_Tis a rhyme for your lips and a song for your heart,_

_To sing it whenever the world falls apart. _

It was her childhood, it was the music box, and it was the song that she had sung whenever she felt nervous or weary. Now as footsteps vibrated along like a ripple in a vast body of water where she waited at the shoreline to be snapped up savagely and drowned by her captor, she found herself echoing the chorus if in a weak attempt to take her mind away from the moment she would die in as violent a manner as this person approached her helpless soul had planned.

'Look, look, look to the rainbow. Follow it over the hill and the stream. Look, look, look to the rainbow. Follow the fellow, who follows a dream.'

_Clang_

She looked up and she could see a rather unamused human being looking down upon her.

Finally, she met her captor, a man who was tall and broad, with a penchant for fine dark clothing, with a cut and style that suited something of the wizards she'd read about. His face was marred by shadow, accentuating his sharp features, but his hair was longer than hers and a silvery blonde, so straight she knew magic had to be involved in such a precarious deadness, practically lighting up their small enclosed space. While so many of these aspects should have rung alarm bells in her head as to who she was faced with, it was the cane that he had, for no useful purpose other than to seem more aristocratic amongst his peers, with the silver serpent's head and the emeralds for eyes. It was her memories that told her that the cane held the wizard's wand within…and that the owner was in fact a wizard at all.

And not one who would be willing to help her…

_Malfoy._

Rather abruptly, her body fell limp, and her internal systems had shut down, as the shock had taken over her senses and decided she need not be awake for whatever terrible things would happen next.

* * *

For a time everything was rather blurry. She was exhausted and well spent from her attempt to escape, that she had snuggled further into the cushions offered by the place she slept. A fire was crackling nearby and everything just seemed so peaceful. The afterlife wasn't a certainty for her, so whatever this was had felt rather lovely considering her lack of faith. And she hadn't even felt the pain and aches of taking her last breath.

'She's stirring Master…'

'Leave us be Crispy.'

'Yes Master.'

Her eyes snapped open. Why were her awakenings always so rough?

She held herself together so that she didn't so brutally react to let him know that she was entirely awake and very much afraid once again. Just when she thought it was all over.

'I'm no fool Evangeline.'

Swallowing harshly, she sat up slowly. A blanket had been draped over her as she was laid on a chaise lounge in a previously unconscious heap. She didn't look to her captor, instinct telling her to avoid the wizard's eyes from pure disbelief. Her eyes took a quick turn around the room instead.

It was by far the cosiest room she had seen in her short time. Books lined the walls within inverted shelves as did a few portraits watching on with curiosity. The fire was strong and the hearth was large. There was a portrait of a beautiful blonde woman in her youth, wearing a dark purple set of robes above the hearth and she looked down her nose upon the fearful teenage girl. For the first time in a long time, said girl mustered up enough courage to glare right back.

'My Narcissa is a lot more cordial in person.'

Her glare was now set upon her captor. She had known him the moment she had had a closer look and now she wished him just as unfortunate a turn in his circumstances as she had.

'I understand your pugnacious feelings toward me though I truly don't wish you any harm…'

'I'm positively murderous toward you,' she responded, in a tone mocking his, attempting neutral and dreadfully upper class dialect.

Lucius Malfoy was hardly one to be swayed by such a childish demeanour but he knew she was holding back much more. She was scared but she knew there was more going on if she still breathed before him.

'_There is so much she will be capable of…'_

Evangeline watched him carefully, as she heard his muffled voice and his mouth remained shut. Clenching her jaw, she let him stay unaware of what she could hear. Taking a swig from his whiskey glass, Lucius offered her a glass now she was awake.

'I'm no fool…Lucius Malfoy.'

He was frozen for a moment and he looked toward her, his stare intent on figuring out her outset.

'I was uncertain of your…knowledge, but it seems that they didn't pick the wrong girl.'

Her eyes never left his body as a half full glass turned up on a floating tray next to her. She crossed her arms refusing to accept his offer.

Lucius sighed although he commended her for her forethought.

'While I don't plan to harm you, many will try.'

'And why won't you exactly? Aren't you the one who stuck me in a cellar until I was nearly dead?'

Lucius looked only somewhat apologetic of his earlier actions. This only increased her murderous will for him.

'Truth is I wasn't made aware of your…importance. It was only a week or so after you arrived at my doorstep that I was informed.'

She had to hold herself back from screaming. There was nothing more infuriating than time wasting answers.

'I've already been here 36 days,' said Evangeline coolly, 'is there a way you can get to the point?'

Lucius considered her impatience as well as her clear hatred for him and decided it was not worth punishing her for her insubordinate manner. He had heard a great many things about her and what she was going to do for the Dark Lord. And much had happened to her, that even Lucius could sympathise for her position.

'You're a very important piece in our future Evangeline. Our Dark Lord has implored this on his most trusted followers.'

'And you're sure you're part of his most trusted?'

The question had thrown him. He had certainly underestimated her knowledge of the world his current situation in it.

She had taken a guess as to where his son was in his life to gauge just where she was. While Lucius was not as young as she had imagined, she had some idea from Lucius' thoughts that Draco Malfoy was still young and naïve about his power in the world. From hearing thoughts about his poor only child's battle with a hippogriff and Rubeus Hagrid's inability to teach and maintain safety in Hogwarts, while it didn't make any sense from her past normal life in 2008, she had to be ahead of all of these murderous magic folk. Evangeline had to go along unscathed. This was her best bet. Book: Prisoner of Azkaban.

Lucius remained quiet and surprisingly let her continue.

'You didn't know about me until whoever took me brought me to your house. That is a fact. You treated me worse than your house elves, which I'm under the impression you are currently being investigated for due to your personal house elf Dobby's departure. It must due to my blood of which I'm muggle.'

'Muggleborn,' Lucius corrected.

'That's right. You gave me a wand which makes me muggleborn,' Evangeline added calculatingly, 'But before that you didn't know I had any magic in me, any _worth_ in me, and so you treated me the way you thought one should be treated when they are muggle. And now you know I'm supposedly important to…the Dark Lord, you keep me locked up but with much better conditions. Someone else informed you and you're the only one not under heavy watch from the Ministry thanks to your bribing Minister Fudge. That is why I'm here and not somewhere else. Because you know I'm an opportunity to get you back into the circle, even though you were never part of the original plan…'

A scowl was heavily set in Lucius' previously very controlled features. She was ready to smile in achievement of her technique when stuck in terribly difficult situations but she was interrupted.

'Now that I know how close we are, you will help him and us to become what we always knew we would be.'

'And what would that be precisely?' Evangeline asked cautiously.

'A world where a strict set of classes exist to keep us away from those of lesser ideals and blood, a finer harmony that has yet to be understood by the majority. And just as there will be a resistance trying to defeat us, they will try to kill you in their attempt to undo our work.'

Her brow rose as she recollected what information she could about this and the person in front of her. She had questions and she wasn't ready to believe most of his answers. Evangeline was listening in to the thoughts in his head.

'I gave you that wand because you do have the ability to use it and you show an intelligence many in our ranks lack, something you showed in merely unlocking that door with no prior teachings and nearly leaving without my consent.'

He _was_ telling the truth. It was astounding but she kept her face levelled off from revealing any emotion too useful for him. Her quiet led him to continue.

'I also gave it to you because in this world, hardly anyone is forgiving and very few are likely to believe you if you try to escape. While your blood is not preferred you offer far more in your abilities for us, those that are willing to protect you as much as you are willing to aid our rule, than a pureblooded duellist might.'

'And if I'm not willing?' came the blunt question.

Lucius' eyes looked toward the fire, the only illuminating feature of the room, and held his glass to his lips. He took it away when he found he couldn't consume his drink when it came to the crux of this conversation and took a deep breath. He didn't look rather warm as he spoke, staring intently down at the glass in his hand.

'There is nothing left for you out there Evangeline. Bellatrix made sure of that.'

The glass in Lucius' hand shattered unexpectedly and blood dripped down from where the glass embedded in his skin. A house elf was by his side instantly. As the serving creature gave him aid, Lucius looked over in utter disbelief of what he had known she had done in reaction to this news.

She too was breaking, her face of angry control now a mixture of emotions, toiling through the devastation that was caused from the people who took her.

'You killed them – my family?'

The tears rolled freely down her cheeks, dampening the glowing pink skin.

'I did not,' Lucius said as he watched her with due caution. Things began to shake, expensive sharp things. He was becoming aware of just why she was most important. 'Bellatrix was never one for restraint,' he explained honestly.

Her tears of utmost despair transpired into a quicker, heavier breathing and she was bent over, arms wrapping themselves around her torso. She felt as though her insides were being torn apart.

_Bellatrix Lestrange – crazed murderer with undying loyalty to Voldemort, check. _

'_She_ took me that night,' she stated in a reverberating tone although her anguish was still clear. 'And the other one? Who was he?'

While Lucius believed he had the upper hand, it would do no good to try and best a young witch so scorned with her power yet unchecked. He answered every question succinctly.

'Fenrir Greyback.'

_Werewolf who will never be good enough to be labelled Death Eater, check. _

_Their damaged, twisted corpses – their undignified deaths. _

A wail took over the distraught Evangeline as she imagined so clearly her parents' dead faces, a vase sent from the Count of Brasov becoming practical dust and scarring the painting of Lucius' wife, making the portrait fear it's fate, fearing the girl she looked down on.

'Master, the Mistress is on her-'

'Shut up Grud, leave this instant!'

As the bottle of firewhiskey blew up in shards, the house elf disappeared and Lucius was forced to fend for himself with his defensive magic.

His wand pointed toward the onslaught of glass and liquid heading his way and a shield avoided any more injury to his person, the liquid slipping down the invisible obstacle and the glass ricocheting off the defence spell.

Lucius hadn't realised quite how much this news had affected his unwarranted ward and saw his mistake was being too brash in delivering it to her.

Evangeline was distinctly remembering that night as Lucius watched her, vigilant of the next projectile. A night of sobering up mostly, but a night that wasn't difficult to picture. Power outs and invasions. She had hoped it was a joke, but it wasn't. The screaming, the begging…the green lights that fell away as the sounds of _bodies _landed on the floor. It was synonymous with death in this world.

And now it was in hers too.

Then she remembered. Genevieve had been caught in the fray.

'My sister,' her pitch higher but much quieter than before, 'she was only thirteen!'

The door opened with urgency as a beautiful middle-aged woman strode in, wand strictly closer to her body. She was ready to take Evangeline down but just as she was protective, she was swift with her tactics.

But Narcissa Malfoy hadn't taken Evangeline's unchecked emotion into account. She was forced to duck when a favoured sword from her husband's ancestor that once sat inside a glass case on display came sailing toward her. It stuck squarely into the adjacent wall.

Lucius pulled Narcissa by her wrist roughly behind him and held his wand pointing toward the floor as to not provoke a direct assault. The grief she was currently experiencing was hitting puddle like helplessness now and Lucius knew this was no time to aggravate what was potentially a vengeful young woman.

'They were innocent people, you could have let them _live_!'

'I had no part in that,' Lucius stated clearly.

Evangeline stood, a venom overtaking her sopping mess of sorrow as she despised the very people who told her that this was a way of life now. Her finger pointed accusingly at the infamous Patriarch.

'Regardless Lucius Malfoy, your kind has rejoiced in the deaths of my people for generations. You said it yourself, my people are beneath you!'

'That doesn't mean they deserve death,' Lucius countered as calmly as possible. 'We have feared your kind just as you have feared ours.'

'She came into my home, and picked off my family one by one,' a deathly glare turning on to Narcissa. She took a few steps to them, her eyes menacing.

'Your dear sister Bella killed a _child_. My sister. Who had _nothing _to do with whatever set up you have for me here. And I wouldn't doubt your blood thirst runs in the family.'

Narcissa held herself together but knew there was no way she could defend her older sister. No matter what blood they had Narcissa didn't find murdering children forgivable. Her deeper nature reviled the very thought. And this girl who had been taking up a room in their home for outside interests saw her as the monster her sister had become in those years being one of the Dark Lord's devout followers.

'Bellatrix is unhinged and always has been,' Lucius argued as he pushed Narcissa further behind him, 'my wife doesn't hold the same readiness.'

The thoughts of fear swirled with her hatred for the people before her, taller and sturdier but frightened of what had happened in this room, how her anger and grief had made this room a death trap. She was feeling faint, but not from shock or grief, but from overexerting what power she had discovered to have. What fear she instilled in those who kept her prisoner. It was a small success in a world of misery. A world going dark.

'But she holds loyalty to her…' a glowering grin that didn't fit the face of the teenage girl normally because it had never sat there before, 'and she will never reciprocate that loyalty to you, not like she does for Voldemort.'

The darkness consumed her magic fatigued body and she clumsily fell into a heap on the floor, where glass was still scattered across the rug, cutting up her face and neck on landing. She was too tired to care.

* * *

'How may I punish her your eminence?'

Lucius struck his elf hard over the head with his cane. 'You are never to assume a duty, is that understood?'

'Bale understands perfectly Master,' said the elf ducking his head and bowing to the wizard above him. Lucius found himself getting far more irritated with this sadistic elf in particular and felt a softer touch was needed.

'Crispy!'

The elf popped up instantly, and waited quietly for his order.

'You will be at Evangeline's beck and call. She is not to leave her room again until I say so. I will be changing the locks so first year spells can't help her escape. She is now allowed some books from the personal library to train her magic, as the Dark Lord will surely appreciate a prepared Reader when the time comes and I believe that incident happened because she went slightly manic from boredom. Bale and Grud will work on a small bathroom to be built within her room so there is no reason for her to leave for waste reasons, so the only order that she may give that can _not _be followed is to leave the confines of her room unless I call for it. Is that understood Crispy?'

Crispy nodded sharply and Lucius was satisfied with his response.

His wife on the other hand looked rather displeased with this predicament and had many questions for her husband. Lucius swallowed away any concerns and approached his wife wearily.

'Narcissa –'

'We should obliviate her.'

Lucius was stricken by such a suggestion. He shook his head and sighed, 'And risk her losing what knowledge she has for the Dark Lord?'

'She's clearly not going to cooperate now that you've told her what Bellatrix did…why didn't you tell me she killed her family?'

Lucius began walking the long hallway back to the door that led to the vast entrance hall, and Narcissa fell easily into step with her tall husband.

'Those were details I didn't want to mar you with when we took in the mudblood, there was already so much I had to think about for phase one of our plan-'

'Well clearly I need to know every detail. She could've killed you and I've no idea what to do in that scenario if you're dead,' Narcissa whispered harshly to her husband as he opened the door and walked through, his wife hastily following.

'But she didn't. I don't think she is capable of killing anyone and that is what giving her comfort in the confines of her walls has done. We could've treated her worse by the way Greyback went about it.'

'You put her in the cellar Lucius. If I knew Bella had murdered her family-'

'Then you would've asked me to be nicer, I couldn't risk that yet. I think I've done enough for her in reparation for that week or two in the cellar. Besides it can only go up from here.'

Narcissa's eyes were wide with incredulity. 'Lucius she nearly killed me. You don't think she won't plan to murder us in our sleep now that you've given her the materials and motive to do so?'

Lucius stopped at the staircase and implored silently to his wife to trust him.

'This is only the beginning of phase two dear. We have so much work to do, but she will be loyal to us in the end if, and only if we treat her a step below Draco and well,' Lucius despising himself for the example, gestured to the very staircase they were atop of, 'not an entire staircase to the bottom from our son's affection.'

'And how do you think this will possibly work when I'm so closely linked to her family's murderer?'

'You will show her your true heart despite our _indifference_ to her kind. I know it's going to be hard, but you may as well see her as one of your own…at least until the Dark Lord has returned. Then she'll be off our hands for good.'

'And how will we deal with her when we have associates over? Our Ball can't be stopped without being questioned Lucius. People will investigate again-'

Lucius took hold of his wife and looked her in the eyes, a sense of frustration overcoming him. 'She will take my third cousin's name if the circumstances call for it, but we will keep her tucked away for the sake of our social gatherings. No one else has to know but us.'

'And what about Draco? He's going to have questions.'

'All in due time my darling. Now I've had a long night and I have a long day ahead of me with Fudge tomorrow. I need rest and so do you. We will talk when I come back from the Ministry.'

Lucius turned on his heel and walked away from the staircase, heading to his room hoping this night in her overwhelmed mind, Narcissa might join him.

But she was up much longer than she was used to. She was stuck thinking on what the girl had said so directly to her.

Was Bellatrix no longer loyal to the Black name? Had she given it all up for a terrifying dark wizard who would never see her than more as a servant to his cause? An enthusiastic one, but a servant nonetheless…

Bellatrix spat on any mention of Andromeda and Sirius from when they were cast out. But was she willing to turn on her family if the Dark Lord ordered it so?

What frightened her more was how she said his name, with such conviction, as though he were little more of a common criminal with no intent to feel remorse.

Narcissa had felt something cold tackle her skin, being cleaned of her obliviousness, a gritty mud like substance that wouldn't wash away until now, unblocking her ears and opening up her eyes so they no longer struggled through tunnel vision. She had felt so consumed by her role that she had let Lucius do as he pleased, as per her agreement to let him run their lives from the moment Draco was born. And she felt dirty still from this lack of forethought on her part.

The Black family women did support their husbands, but they were far from trophy wives. They were active advisors to their husbands and children. And she hadn't been doing herself any favours by letting this affair run on without any discipline.

Narcissa decided a bath was necessary before bed, if only to rethink her alignment and strategy in this house during these testing times in their world and the overall plan her husband had for their family – new addition and all. And if she was going to get all the information from her husband then she was going to have to hold out from the marital room for a short time until he caved.

For now, she was going to have to try to warm to this Evangeline, and the girl too was going to have to warm to the name of "Voiler".


	12. A True Napoleon

_Author's Note:_

_Playlist suggestions:  
'Harry &amp; Hermione', HBP Soundtrack (No. 12)  
_'_Resilience', A Series of Unfortunate Events 2004 Soundtrack._

_J.K. Rowling owns this universe._

_Enjoy x_

* * *

Book One

_Chapter Eleven_

_A True Napoleon_

'_Sirius Black has managed to evade the dementors again!'_

'_Beware __Miss Voiler.'_

'_Who are you?'_

'_I still love you like you are my own Andy.'_

'_You can't promise that.'_

'_That doesn't mean I won't try.'_

'_Very perceptive, Draco Malfoy.'_

The images were coming far and few between, nothing was strictly clear. It was all different voices flying through her mind and it wasn't matching up to anything articulate.

Incoherencies and a constant headache and she felt hot all over. Nothing was making sense and it was beginning to infuriate her.

She awoke in a sweat and stirred Petra, who gently put her head back on the covers when she realised Genevieve had simply frightened herself and there was no sign of outward danger anywhere.

Genevieve rubbed her temples methodically and hoped for the best. She didn't want to wake either Andy or Dennis, mostly because she didn't want Andy to fuss when she really needed rest and because Dennis would most likely pick at the problem with snail like pace as he considered every tiny detail. It was the most excruciating experience after she collapsed, because she'd seen a shambles of things before she woke up again but it was all narrowed down to garbled nonsense dreams. She knew he was just being precise but sometimes it became staggeringly impossible to think and live with the constant poking from her guardian.

God forbid she would mention the voices to him if that weren't common among wizards and witches. She would be stuck in a seat being examined for hours, answering the same questions over and over again.

But stuck in her own head, marinating over the possibilities, Genevieve had come to her own conclusion that these weren't just any voices or even multiple consciences of her own (_thank god_). These were the voices of others thoughts.

She'd noticed a pattern in walking into a room and hearing the voices suddenly and then when she walked away as far from another person, found she didn't have any _new_ voices. It was also becoming distinctly obvious that the tones and accents were clearly linking to either Dennis or Andy.

They were mostly unchained thoughts, little things they would be thinking in the way she might quietly talk to herself but instead were entirely private thoughts that she managed to invade, although that was completely out of her control.

Sometimes the thoughts became rather amorous and Genevieve would have to belt it out of there as though she'd gained the sudden urge to go to the toilet with busting relief.

She'd always receive the odd looks from the two whenever she would return to whatever the task was at hand, and it would always take their mind off whatever the one was thinking of the other at the time. Genevieve was going to knock their heads together and just shove them in a room soon enough all thanks to her own quiet suffering.

But these weren't waters to be tested by a young teenage girl. She didn't want to intervene too much in something that was already so sensitive.

And it was becoming clear that of all the people to rationalise Genevieve when she was feeling a little sensitive from her new natural imbalance, it was Andy. Maybe it was Dennis' years of being a cat and not necessarily a person who handled people with a delicate patience. Andy had a way with her that Dennis had somewhat envied of the woman he secretly loved.

However in that dark night, where she was alone, Genevieve could admit that what she needed right now was in fact Dennis, who had been there from the beginning and seen everything at its worst. He was good at this stuff when he didn't sound like an idiot. Sometimes, dare she say it, he could relate to her and explain things so sensibly to her in a way that made everything a little less daunting, and it would warm her heart because he was trying his hardest.

Like the most masculine fairy godmother ever, Dennis was there, frightening the life out of her as he sat in the wooden rocking chair that her father had made for the nursery when her older sister was born. Although she'd been rid of most things to keep her on track and happy, the rocking chair went well with the room, and she truly liked sitting in it when she would read for the pleasure, not because it was her duty to.

Dennis looked up from the book he'd been reading, "The Tales Beedle the Bard," holding his lit up wand to see if she was in fact awake or just doing an odd stance in her sleep.

'Ah, you're up.'

Genevieve said tiredly, 'Don't you have anything better to do than to hover over me while I sleep?'

'Not for ten years,' Dennis commented which she felt hit her hard. Maybe she should have seen that sharp one coming.

Genevieve looked away contritely as he said, 'Don't be like that. I know we're not perfect, but we can make jokes sometimes, even if it is a shitty situation you were thrown into.'

Genevieve refused to let this be her pity party.

'We were both thrown into it. You left behind your youth to play some little girls' pet cat while trying to protect my family and loving someone that you believed was unattainable,' Genevieve commented.

Her guardian seemed to dismiss the possibility entirely and she saw his slight sigh that wished it wasn't so easy to.

Genevieve shook her head and said quietly, 'When are you going to learn Dennis Davies?'

'Learn what?' he asked with a hint of a frown, although the insecurity was still evident through it.

'Never mind. I guess all things just take time,' Genevieve said, refusing to push anything between Dennis and Andy if it was inevitable.

'Why are you here?'

'You keep information from me; so I have to see you at your most vulnerable when I can't sleep. It's quite telling what goes on inside your head. You do quite loudly sleep talk when you're stressed.'

A quelling anxiety steeped in the pit of her stomach awoke but she knew it was in fact a dig at what she'd done the night she went to Hogwarts with Dennis. She relaxed slightly with this awareness as her shoulders sagged. He still didn't know about the voices.

'I'm sorry I held important information hostage so I could get you to take me to Hogwarts,' Genevieve said just as honestly. 'It was childish of me, I really should have just passed it on so you could keep the Reader's identity a secret.'

'You know that's not why I wanted you there,' Dennis said, as he was about to explain.

'I know, but it sounds more noble than me wanting to meet people who were once interesting characters in a children's book to me,' Genevieve said with a knowing glance.

Dennis nodded, affirming she guessed his original reason correctly. He decided to continue on with his assessment of her and to let her in on his current findings.

'You're sleeping pattern has drastically changed since you were chosen by your wand.'

'You noticed that?' she asked impressed.

'It's sort of my job to notice that. You're my priority, even in my own home,' Dennis shrugged, holding up the Beedle the Bard book to reveal some parchment sitting in the pages with illegible scribble by her standard.

Genevieve began getting out of her bed, for him to gesture to stay as he got up and moved to sit on her bed.

Once she had her hands on the parchment, she found times listed down and moments she'd spoken in her sleep. It was nothing too unusual, she was known to sleep talk quite a lot according to Evangeline and would occasionally wake herself up from it. But Dennis was a better judge than she was being a light sleeper as a cat, and having slept on her bed for years.

The mixed and matched sayings all came from the weird dreams she'd been having. He still hadn't caught on, the poor bugger.

Genevieve took a deep breath and said, 'Dennis I have to tell you something.'

Dennis immediately perked up, Genevieve only realising what he could have insinuated this phrase to have possibly meant. Genevieve brushed it off and said, 'This is only about me.'

Dennis visibly relaxed, sinking back into her pillows a lot more to listen to her.

'Ever since I touched my wand, something inside me changed. I know it must feel like something has taken the reigns inside you once you you're your wand to harness your power…but mine _unleashed_ something in me.'

He didn't react, as she might've guessed but continued to listen regardless.

'For a couple of days now, whenever I'm near someone…I feel like I can hear what they're thinking, and sometimes other than just random dream like things…I feel like I'm receiving images from some place else, like my near future,' Genevieve said slowly only to get a mild frown in return.

Dennis let out a contemplative sigh, as he thought about everything she'd just confessed to him.

'I had a feeling you might inherit more than you would be comfortable with,' Dennis admitted as he sat up to face her.

Genevieve began to feel anxious for what this might mean. He scrunched up his face, wondering just where to begin.

'Your ancestor was considered one of the most powerful witches because she could do things like hear others thoughts. She would also have dreams, sometimes clear and detached from each other, but they would all have some significance in the future, big or small. There were a couple of other things, but she was born with these powers to aid in her own prophecy, one she refused to help fulfil.'

'So it wasn't just because she was special. Fate gave her these powers because of the prophecy?'

Dennis squinted his eyes momentarily. It was far more complex than she liked to think.

'Prophecies can be extremely simple. Someone's imminent death by never stepping out of their comfort zone or accidentally tripping up the Minister for Magic and revealing his true identity as three goblins stacked on top of each other to assume themselves as a human wizard in power – those are brilliant prophecies.' She smiled in good humour with him as he raked through his knowledge. But his face fell when he came to his next point.

'Or it can be more complex, like keeping the balance between what is truly good and what is truly bad in place. It's a lot more challenging than one would hope and generally much more is lost in order to make it happen. That's why sometimes Fate bequeaths people something special to get them through to the end even if there's no guarantee of their life at the end.'

'Like Harry,' Genevieve said quietly to herself and Dennis looked surprised by this. She shook her head and he understood that this was not quite the time for this new discussion although he made sure to keep it on tab in his memory.

'These things you see and hear, they're useful to you Genevieve, believe me. I may not know how yet, but eventually it will be clear to you why.'

Genevieve looked forlorn as she considered all these things.

'Eviana and her children died for keeping the balance even when it called her to bring ruin to the world…Do I blame the idiots on my study ceiling or Fate?' Genevieve questioned genuinely unsure.

Dennis took her hand in his and sighed, 'I see you've been talking to Cyril's old mates about Eviana in greater detail too.'

'They do like the sound of their own voices, especially when you give them the opportunity,' Genevieve started off slyly and felt the need to defend only one of them, 'I usually only listen to Corvus though. The only one with the least unbiased account of events it seems.' Dennis patted her hand and thought it all through rationally.

'I think you can definitely blame them for their major part, but Fate gets the wrap for giving them the motivation for being murderous purists in the first place. It spun the thinking that way further back enough to become a genuine movement.'

Genevieve took a few deep breaths as her thoughts began to collect and her feelings toward Fate were turning very negative. 'Am I and Evangeline making up for Eviana not following through on her prophecy?'

Dennis gulped and smiled uncomfortably. 'It wouldn't surprise me if that were to be true. Cruel but certainly not unheard of when you take into account that curses can last for generations laying dormant, only to take deep affect on a descendent perfectly undeserving of the consequences.'

It wasn't hard to see why Genevieve had been feeling hostile toward the world.

'Fate's an asshole,' Genevieve stated bleakly.

'That _it_ is,' Dennis added.

'So even if I do my best to help and finish the prophecy, it doesn't guarantee me or Evangeline a peaceful life?'

Dennis didn't want to answer her but she felt she understood now.

'It won't literally have you killed…it just won't protect you as well as it might have when you helped keep the balance…'

'So sort of like a bad government policy that won't help soldiers financially after coming home from fighting in a war?'

'Yeah…and you damn well know that once this is all over you will be financially and magically kept safe. Fate mightn't help you, but I'll be there for you kid,' Dennis said giving her a nudge.

Genevieve looked to him sadly and said, 'You can't promise that.'

'That doesn't mean I won't try,' Dennis countered reassuringly.

Genevieve gave a deep breath, before letting her head lean on his shoulder.

'Could Evangeline have these powers too? You know, if she got her hands on any wand?'

'If Fate was kind enough, I think she too would have the same powers, or something very similar anyway. There are two of you after all.'

'So maybe in her dreams, she can know I'm here too? Looking for her under an invisibility cloak that Fate can't find me with?' Genevieve imagined out loud as she picked up the Beedle the Bard book from him.

It might have sounded ludicrous to some, but Dennis understood quite well to know what this now meant. He questioned her knowing a children's story and why it might be in the books she'd read, but digressed.

'Possibly…more than likely in fact,' Dennis said as he wrapped his arm around her, comforting her just that bit more.

Sinking into his hold, Genevieve closed her eyes, getting quite comfortable. He yawned and stretched his other limb before settling properly into the pillows.

'How do I control it?' she asked in an almost whisper.

'That's the fun part for me, the hard part for you,' Dennis' disjointed speech came out, continuing, 'It's another thing on top of your schooling. And if you're so desperate to catch up to your peers by OWL's then you'll have to work harder than you ever have before.'

Genevieve groaned in annoyance as he quickly countered, 'Do you want to learn how to stop the voices and how to listen to the closed off ones properly?'

After mulling over the advantages of possessing her ability tightly, Genevieve begrudgingly nodded.

'You just have to think of it as a radar for those you don't know to trust and by helping those who need to remain safe,' Dennis yawned again.

Ruminating over how she might tackle this alongside catching up to her year level before OWL's begin as she had so desired as someone who hated being left behind, thankful she knew some of the spells already because of the books, she would need to learn more than just those simple spells and those very advanced ones as well.

Genevieve knew the worst thing that could happen was that it was going to be difficult to get through and to catch up. But she highly doubted that that would be the biggest problem in her mind. In fact the last thing she worried about now was graduating. What she was most concerned with was not knowing enough to keep her and others safe, not knowing how to combat the worst Fate had to throw at her. But with Dennis so faithful in her and Andy so willing to help her and bring her mind back to peace, she knew she was in with a good shot.

It felt wonderful to belong to something after she'd been thrown headfirst reluctantly without her consent.

Before he fell asleep, Genevieve thought he ought to know, or at least one of her guardians should know the truth.

'By the way, do you mind not thinking of Andy in that way whenever I'm in a room?'

'Genevieve,' Dennis said quietly mortified, eyes squeezing shut to avoid the agony he was feeling as she watched him somewhat disgusted and smug all at once.

'It's your own fault, not mine,' Genevieve said quietly and evidently abhorrent to the original thought as she snuggled into him and finally felt ready for bed again, while Dennis was wide-awake and painfully embarrassed.

It was the first time the homesick feeling wasn't quite as strong as it had been on other nights.


End file.
